Managing Love
by meetmeinstlouie
Summary: The managing partner of the law firm Carson, Crawley & Bates has the reputation of being traditional, efficient, and boring. But he becomes the center of gossip, both among his staff and his legal associates, when he does something totally unexpected - he gets engaged. The bigger surprise is his intended - his smart, progressive, and sexy office manager of twenty-five years.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I plan on using as many Downton characters in this story as humanly possible. I like stories with LOTR-size casts, ha. As usual, I do not own Downton Abbey. Also, Chapter 18 is a Public Service Announcement, so if you just want the story, skip it.**

 _Text message from Thomas Barrow to Anna Bates, 05:49 am, Christmas Day, 2015_

 _R u awake?_

 _Anna Bates to Thomas Barrow, 05:50 am_

 _Merry Christmas to you, too. We have a 3 year old. Of course I'm awake. Why r u awake?_

 _TB to AB, 05:50_

 _Wanted to know if it's true._

 _AB to TB, 05:51_

 _What's true?_

 _TB to AB, 05:51_

 _Don't be coy. I'm sure he called John to tell him. Or did she call you?_

 _AB to TB, 05:51_

 _You're being cryptic._

 _TB to AB, 05:52_

 _JUST TELL ME IF IT'S TRUE. I KNOW YOU KNOW._

 _AB to TB, 05:52_

 _Y_

 _TB to AB, 05:52_

 _OMFG! LOL, Jimmy's awake, I screamed_

 _AB to TB_

 _Poor guy_

Anna had barely sent the last text when her phone rang in her hand. Thankfully, she had thought ahead and put it on vibrate. John was still out cold next to her.

"Details! I want details! When? Last night? Where did it happen? Oh my God, I can't believe this! Oh my God, Oh my God…" Thomas was practically screaming over the phone. Anna slipped out of bed and held out her hand to Poppy. Her daughter took her hand as they hurried into the master closet. Anna shut the door and sat with her back to it.

"Merry Christmas."

"Jesus MUST love me, this is one hell of a Christmas present! Merry Christmas to Poppy!"

"Say Merry Christmas to Uncle Thomas," whispered Anna, holding out the phone.

"Mewy Chwistmas, Uncle Thomas!" Poppy called, her blonde hair in a wild tangle. Anna winced at her toddler volume.

"Shhhh, darling, Daddy's still sleeping." She held the phone back to her ear. "It's me again."

"Seriously, I want details! Now! Did you know about this? You had to have known this was going to happen!"

Anna laughed, covering her mouth. "You'll be over here this evening, can't it wait twelve hours?"

"NO! STOP STALLING, DAMNIT!"

"Fine! I don't have any details really, he just called John last night around 10:30 and told him he'd asked her, and she said yes. I don't know WHERE they were. And believe it or not, I didn't know it was going to happen. I suspected, but didn't know for sure. She doesn't tell me everything. You know, a woman of mystery…"

Thomas huffed over the phone. "And she didn't call you? Wow, that surprises me."

"She did call me, just after John got off the phone with him. And she said the same thing. Didn't give me any details, sorry."

"Well, what did she sound like? Happy?"

Anna sighed. "Yes, happy. And drunk."

"Aha! That's more like it! What did she say?"

"What people who are normally engaged say – 'I'm engaged'!"

"I can't believe this," Thomas said. Anna could hear him smiling over the phone. "I can't fu- I can't _believe_ this. I never thought he'd have it in him. Or that she'd-you know, go for _him_."

Anna smiled at his almost slip. He was at least trying to curb his language. "Give him some credit! They've worked together for what, twenty-five years? They've been friends at least twenty." Anna giggled at Poppy, who was trying to do a somersault.

"Yeah, friends! Not friends with benefits, or lovers. It's not like she didn't have half the attorneys in the county – both married and not - chasing after her for the last two decades. And the other half were either like me, or too scared to try, even though you know they wanted to." Thomas paused. "Wow. Just…wow. I can't see her with him, can you?"

"You don't know what she thought of him-"

"Wait," Thomas interrupted. "If I find out you knew they've been sleeping together, and didn't tell me-"

"I didn't know anything until last month, when she told me they were meeting for dinner," Anna hastily explained. "That's the first I heard. I told you she doesn't tell me everything!" She heard a thump from the bedroom. She cracked the closet door and saw John yawning, sitting up on the bed. The digital clock flashed 5:56 AM.

"John's up, I'd better go. I told Poppy we had to wait until he got up to open presents. See you and Jimmy at six tonight?"

"Oh fine," Thomas grumbled. "I still think you know something. If you think you can play Betty Homemaker and hide in the kitchen all night, well guess what, I can throw on an apron too. You can't hide!"

"I don't intend to," Anna rolled her eyes. "Just do me a favor, okay? Let Jimmy get some more sleep. It is Christmas."

"Sure, I'll let him get more sleep. Unless he'd rather have sex. Merry Christmas to me…"

"Goodbye, Thomas. See you tonight," She smiled, shaking her head as she hit the red button with her thumb. John still sat on the bed, holding Poppy. He was tickling her, and her childish laughter made Anna's heart sing.

"Merry Christmas, sunshine," Anna dropped a kiss on his bed head. "I'm sorry, you got what? Four hours of sleep? That kitchen set had a thousand screws in it."

"More like ten thousand," he said, scratching his stubble. He picked up a t-shirt from the floor and pulled it on. Poppy spun in a circle in the middle of the bedroom.

"Daddy! Can we open presents? Please!"

John quirked his adorable side grin. "Let's go see what Santa brought you, sweetpea." He stood up and kissed his wife, his hands moving along her back, her hips, her ever-growing belly. She linked her hands behind his neck. They both jumped apart when Poppy stomped her foot.

" _Now_ , Daddy!"

They sighed, smiling, hands linked as they went downstairs. Poppy danced down the stairs in front of them, humming "Jingle Bells".

"I'll make coffee, if you want to get the stockings down," Anna said. "It will be easier to start with that. Once she gets to the big presents, she won't want to open anything else."

"Sure," John said. "Let me guess – was that Thomas on the phone? I'm sure he wanted the inside scoop. Was he surprised?"

"Yes, yes, and yes," Anna laughed as they went into the kitchen. "He screamed over the phone, said it was like a Christmas present to him."

John laughed as he reached over her head to get the box of coffee pods out of the cabinet.

"Thanks," Anna grinned. "I'm too short to reach that, don't know why I keep putting them back there."

"You're welcome," he said. He went over to the mantle and carefully removed Poppy's stocking. He put it on the floor in front of his daughter. He sat next to her, helping her rip paper.

"I don't know which of you enjoys that more, you or her," Anna said, leaving his steaming mug of coffee well out of the child's reach.

"Probably me," he grinned. He leaned back against the recliner chair and reached up for his coffee. Sipping a bit, he returned it to the side table. They both watched their daughter shriek over her new miniature Elsa.

"Mommy, look! It's Queen Elsa! She has _my_ name!"

"Not quite your name, but close," Anna smiled, but it disappeared when her daughter started swinging her new doll by her hair – almost taking several ornaments off of the tree with her enthusiasm.

"Elspeth Poppy Bates! Do _not_ swing the doll by her hair!" She scolded. Poppy's lip went into a pout. She flopped down on John's lap, holding Elsa against her side.

"You should treat Elsa better," her father soothed. "She is a queen, she wouldn't like being whipped around by her hair. Would you?"

"No," the little girl snuffled.

It was rare when Anna used her daughter's full name. It always made her think of her namesake, the woman who had meant so much to both her and John over the years. The woman who, incredibly, had gotten engaged last night. Anna shook her head in wonder. John kissed her cheek.

"I know," John said quietly. "I can't believe it either. Did that really happen? Maybe I didn't hear him right, maybe the lack of sleep is affecting my brain."

"You heard him right," Anna said softly, "and anyway, she told me, so we know it's true. Mr. Carson is going to marry our Elsie Hughes."

As John got up to start sifting through the pile of presents under the tree, Anna felt a smile growing on her face.

She couldn't wait to hear all about it, and what everyone else would think. If Thomas was any indication, this was going to be all anyone could talk about. She thought about calling Beryl, but she knew she'd be out with family all day.

She quickly set a reminder on her phone to call Mary in the early afternoon. If anyone would have had an inkling about the engagement, surely it was Charles Carson's goddaughter.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Full disclosure - I worked in a law firm for ten years. I set this story in the U.S., mostly because I know next to nothing about the British judicial system. That is, other than the fact that judges wear wigs (I think) and if your name is Bates, you're screwed. All of the characters, except Cora, have British accents in my head. It doesn't have to make sense; this is fanfiction. Still own nothing. Thanks for the reviews! This is really fun to write. :)**

Violet Crawley thought she had seen everything in her nearly eighty-one years of age. She had worked beside her husband as an attorney, building a law firm at a time when most women were homemakers. She had seen their business lose value after her husband's death, then seen it thrive anew when their younger protégé, Charles Carson, had become managing partner. She had seen it blossom further when her son Robert joined Carson as a partner.

She had known Carson for over forty years. He had been hired fresh out of law school in 1972 and quickly made his mark. Whether it was writing complicated legal briefs, researching a complex tort case, or preparing for trial, his work was always excellent and thorough. There was never a question of whether he would be managing partner; it was always a question of when. It came sooner than Violet expected, in 1986. At the time, Carson was the youngest managing partner not only in the county, but in the state.

As much as she loved Robert, Violet knew he did not have the head for business. He had other qualities, though, that complimented Carson's. Isobel called him a "social animal", and Violet had to admit that was true. While Carson was formal, and slightly aloof, Robert was warm and engaging. He could bring a much-desired client to the firm over a lunch meeting. But while Robert could bring them in, Carson could keep them. He had lost very few clients in almost thirty years at the helm, Violet mused, a record difficult to break.

She thought that his perpetual bachelorhood was an asset to the job. He was unencumbered by family or spousal drama. She had never known him to have any romantic interest in a woman, not even when he was young. So it came as a massive shock when she arrived at Robert's house for their annual Christmas Day brunch to find that he was engaged to be married.

"But surely you had some kind of prior knowledge!" she gasped, sinking into the sofa. Patting her great-grandson George on the head, she turned back to Robert. "What do you mean, 'you had _no_ _idea_ '?"

"I mean just that, Mama, I had no idea," Robert said, taking a rather long sip of his raspberry mimosa. "Carson has always been private. If he had wanted to say something to me sooner, I'm sure he would have."

"Hmmm," frowned Violet. "Well, I have always admired Mrs. Hughes' aptitude for pushing Carson further along the path than he would wish, to 'move into the future', as our Tom Branson says. But I had no idea she was pushing him into the marital bed!"

"Granny, please," moaned Mary, finishing her mimosa and beginning another. Part of her didn't mind Carson getting married – she was quite happy with Matthew and wanted Carson to be equally happy – but a greater part of her was annoyed and hurt that her godfather had told her nothing of his relationship with Mrs. Hughes.

"I think it's wonderful," Isobel spoke up, turning from admiring the Christmas tree with George.

"You would," Violet said.

"Mama," George said, climbing up onto the sofa next to his mother. "Is it time to call Daddy yet?"

Mary put an arm around her four-year-old boy. _He looks so much like Matthew, not a thing like me._ "Well, let's check the time. Just after noon. So it's seven o'clock in Germany. Let's try, shall we?" She held out her phone and let him hit the button. The phone started ringing.

"Are you calling him normally? Or are you doing that strange type of communication that's straight out of _2001: A Space Odyssey_?" Violet asked.

"FaceTime," Mary said evenly, praying Matthew would pick up. "It's not that strange, Granny, you've done plenty of video chats for meetings. This is like that, just on a phone."

Suddenly, Matthew's face appeared on the small screen. "Hello?" Mary and George broke into wide grins, and Isobel sat next to her grandson on the sofa to be able to see her son. "Oh hello, darling! Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas, Georgie! Merry Christmas, Mother!" They all chorused Merry Christmas back. George immediately launched into a description of his Christmas presents, dragging them from the floor to show them to his father. Mary showed Matthew the rest of the room and everyone else, including Cora, who had finally emerged from the kitchen with the casserole, asparagus and deviled eggs.

"When is everyone else coming over? Later in the afternoon?" Matthew asked. Mary nodded.

"Tom and Sybbie went to Mass with his mother and all the Bransons this morning, they'll be here in a couple of hours," she said. "I'm not sure about Edith."

"Michael called yesterday afternoon," Cora answered Matthew. "Marigold's getting over the stomach bug. It's going around. They're hoping she feels well enough to come today."

"I hope so, poor thing. Give her a kiss from me the next time you see her, will you, Mary?"

"I will," Mary promised. She and Edith had never been best friends, but after Sybil's tragic death, they had tried to mend fences. It helped that George and Marigold got on well.

"Did you have a nice Christmas dinner?" Robert asked. "I know how the military can be. MREs during the holidays are ghastly."

"It was very nice, mostly turkey and ham," Matthew replied. "Major Mitchell brought cigars for most of the JAG Corps personnel." Robert groaned aloud.

"Your mother-in-law won't let me smoke cigars anymore. I've had to beg for an exemption when Bates 2.0 gets here."

"Robert, it's for your own health!"

"When is Anna due?" Matthew asked. "Before I get back, I imagine."

"Late May, so just before," Mary said. "Oh, I forgot. Aunt Rosamund's skipped out. She said she'd rather go to New York for Christmas and meet up with Gary Hagen. Again."

"That sounds like it's getting serious," Matthew said. "He's a friend of Atticus's father, right?"

"Yes, he met Rosamund at Rose's wedding."

"I doubt Rosamund is serious, she's far too independent," Violet interjected. Mary flipped the screen so Matthew could see her grandmother. "But then again, what do I know? Until yesterday, I thought Carson would die a bachelor, but I've been proved wrong."

There was a long pause. "What?" Matthew finally said. "Did I hear that right? Carson's getting _married_?"

"Yes, he got engaged last night, apparently," said Mary, feeling disgruntled.

"Um…to who? I had no idea he was even seeing someone. Did any of you know? Robert?"

"Here we go," Robert said under his breath before answering. "No, none of us had any idea. It's been quite a shock."

"He's engaged to Mrs. Elsie Hughes, Matthew. You know, the office manager." Isobel said. Matthew went completely slack-jawed. Mary felt a tiny sense of satisfaction. Hardly anything could ruffle him.

"Mrs…Hughes. Well." Matthew sat back in what looked like his desk chair in his room. "Well, I would never have guessed it." On the other side of the screen, Matthew sat in utter shock. Thank God for technology. He'd send Tom a quick message before the day was out. His brother-in-law and Mrs. Hughes always got along well. Maybe _he_ had known in advance. If anyone could keep a secret, Tom could. A successful elopement with Sybil to Las Vegas was far more complicated than this.

They talked for a few more minutes until Cora reminded them that brunch was getting cold. After the meal, the older ladies went out to the sunroom to chat privately (though everyone knew what they would be chatting about), Robert helped Cora wash dishes while Mary dried. George played with Robert's beloved dog, Horus. Mary had just finished drying the last dish when her phone rang. ANNA flashed on the screen. Mary sighed as she picked it up. _Prepare to be disappointed._

"Hello, Mary? Merry Christmas! How are you?"

"Merry Christmas," Mary answered. "We're all well here, brunch is over and I'm sure everyone will be asleep at some point in the next hour. I'm surprised you're not napping."

"Well, I'm not really tired just now," Anna said, "Though I'm sure I will be soon. John and Poppy are fast asleep on the couch. She was awake at 5:15 this morning." Mary smiled at the image.

"Oh dear, that's early. Luckily, George didn't come and get me until a little after six," Mary said.

"I know this is sudden, and I really do want to hear about your day so far," Anna said, rushing her words. "But…did Mr. Carson say _anything_ to you? I knew that he went to dinner with Elsie last month, but that was the first I heard of it. At the most, I thought maybe they were dating. But I won't lie, when he called John last night, both of us were knocked for a loop!"

Mary sucked in her breath. "I wish I could say that he told me something beforehand," She couldn't keep the hurt out of her voice. "The first I knew of it was last night, when he called me. He called right after telling Papa and John." She supposed she should feel special that he called her personally. He could have left it to her father.

"What did he say? Anything in particular?"

A sardonic smile crossed Mary's lips. "You're gathering information, aren't you? To spread the gossip,"

"Thomas and Jimmy will be here for dinner. You know how Thomas is. He texted me before six this morning."

Mary sighed. "Honestly, he didn't say much. He said that what he had to say would be shocking," _Which it was_. "And then he said he'd asked Elsie Hughes to marry him, and she'd said yes. I was so surprised I could barely think of anything to say. I did ask him how long they'd been…seeing each other. Obviously, I didn't mean at work."

"Obviously," Anna replied, open curiosity evident in her voice. "Well, what did he say?" Mary was impressed. Carson and Mrs. Hughes had no idea what this was doing to the attorneys and staff. Matthew looking shell-shocked, Anna fishing for gossip…before the day was out, what was next? She and Edith singing Heart's "Alone" on karaoke? She had a feeling Anna was in for a double shock. She knew she had been.

"He said they'd been seeing each other since last January," she punctuated the last word. Her emphasis was rewarded.

"Last _January!?_ How in the hell have they managed that? I have got to ask John, surely he noticed _something…_ " Anna sat down heavily on the floor. How had she not noticed anything? She thought she was closer to Elsie than that.

"Well, I haven't noticed anything out of the ordinary," Mary said with some heat. She could just hear Matthew (and Tom, and Edith and Michael, and probably even Sybil if she were still here) saying how unobservant she could be.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you upset," Anna said. She was beginning to feel rattled herself. She was thrilled for Elsie and Mr. Carson, but wondered if there was anything else she didn't know.

"Don't be sorry," Mary said quickly. "Look, I should let you go and get some sleep before your company comes. I'll see you tomorrow. George is looking forward to playing with Poppy again."

"Okay, see you then. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," Mary replied. She ended the call, smiling softly as she saw George and Horus asleep in front of the fire.

She had no idea only a few miles away the subjects of all this frenzied gossip were asleep as well, due to a feast that had nothing to do with food.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: WARNING. M CHAPTER. THE CHARACTERS MADE ME DO IT. I AM SERIOUS, IF YOU DO NOT LIKE M, SKIP THIS CHAPTER. Ontheotherhand, ifyouwanttoreadaboutthemaincharacters, pleasefeelfree.**

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The welcome breath of warm air met Elsie as Charles held the front door open. He shut it behind them as she removed her coat and hung it in the closet, then took his and did the same.

"That was a lovely Christmas dinner," Charles said as he placed his keys on the kitchen counter. He groaned. "I should not have eaten the second piece of apple tart."

"It was very good," Elsie agreed. She slid Charles's card to him and he stood it upright, the bright colors warming the beige counter. "Becky and the other residents liked it, which is the most important thing. And the fact that she was so happy to know she'll have a brother soon was the crowning achievement of the day!" Her eyes shone as she sat down on his leather recliner in the living room.

A warm smile spread across Charles's face. "I'm happy to have such a sweet sister." He admired the hand-made card with love. "She wasted no time after we told her to make me this beautiful card. Of course," he teased, "it may have been the fact that Santa Claus was coming at precisely eleven o'clock that made her hurry as well."

Elsie looked over her shoulder. "You know that Santa is always played by a volunteer, you could do that next year," her eyes twinkled.

"Are you saying I have a round belly?" he asked in mock horror. "I suppose I should not expect a kiss." He tried to look sad, but the corners of his lips turned up. His fiancée rolled her eyes, suppressing her own smile. She got up from the chair and wound her arms around her man. His lips tasted like apple tart and whatever seductive cologne his body radiated. His mouth moved over hers before it sidestepped to her cheek, then ended with a slow caress on her forehead. He pulled away reluctantly.

"I've got to get the roast in now, or else it won't be done until late," he reached into the drawer under the stove and pulled out the roaster.

"More food!" She groaned dramatically and flopped back onto the recliner. "I can't _think_ about food again, at least not for another day at least!"

"Well," he said, his eyebrows wagging at her, "Perhaps we need to work off some of the last meal."

Elsie laughed. "That might help, yes." Unbidden, a yawn escaped from her mouth.

Charles finished putting aluminum foil on the bottom of the roaster. "Oh, I see. That's what you really think of my sexual prowess."

"Oh hush, you know it was a short night. I didn't get home until 1:30, and didn't fall asleep for hours. And then we were at Becky's by nine…"

"I wonder what kept you awake last night." His eyes danced. "Whatever it was, it kept me up for a long time, too. Really, love, if you're tired, go lay down. I'll finish getting this ready. Shoo, I don't need help. I'll only be a minute."

"I think I will go lay down." She stifled another yawn, walking down the hallway to his bedroom. She sat down at his desk chair and removed her shoes. She glanced fondly at the king-size bed. Whether they were here at his house, or at her condo, making love was a shared pleasure. But here they had more space than on her queen mattress.

The afternoon sun sparkled through the window catching a reflection in the mirror. She looked down. She wasn't used to it yet, her engagement ring. The diamond in the middle was small, the tiny diamonds on either side accentuating the ring's delicate design.

It was perfect. Suddenly, a nap was the last thing on her mind.

She turned down the bed and removed most of her clothing. She undid the clasp that held her hair up, letting it fall across her shoulders. She then sat perched on the edge of the bed, one foot propped on his desk chair, her leg bent at an exact angle. He hummed as he clattered away in the kitchen. She waited nervously for him to finish, afraid to get up and spoil the effect.

At last he came to the room. He stopped dead in his tracks in the doorway, his eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He stepped forward, like he wanted to come in, but he stopped himself. The sight of her in nothing but purple lace panties and matching bra was enough to do him in. He swallowed hard.

She saw a gleam in his eyes as he recognized what was in front of him. He leaned against the doorframe, tugging on his collar underneath the sweater he wore. The collar was enticingly open and she had to concentrate not to stare at the bare skin below his chin. He shuffled nervously, but she knew it was an act. He grinned.

"Mrs. Hughes," he rumbled in that devastating voice, "You're trying to seduce me." He quirked an eyebrow. "Aren't you?"

How he had tried cases for so many years in court without women – or men for that matter – falling to the floor in exquisite agony she would never know. _Who's doing the seducing, Elsie?_

"I hope I'm succeeding, Mr. Carson," she said, making sure to emphasize the r. A wicked smile spread on her face as she watched his expression. She knew quite well how her accent affected him, but this time, his eyes almost rolled back into his head. Reaching for her phone, she found the song she wanted.

"Oh dear," he said. "What's it to be? Joan Baez? Or are you finally coming round to my point of view and playing Glenn Miller?" He tried to smile, but he was so aroused he was having trouble remembering how to take his shoes and socks off. Or breathe. It was bad enough when she was fully clothed, much less now.

"No," she laughed. "Something much more modern. It's an ode to older music, though, so maybe you'll like it. It'll add to your scant knowledge of 21st century music." She put the phone down on the desk and got up from the bed, facing him. She put her hands on his hips and tilted her face up so that her breath tickled his chin. "I think even you will get the message."

" _Let's Marvin Gaye and get it on_

 _You got the healing that I want_

 _Just like they say it in the song_

 _Until the dawn, let's Marvin Gaye and get it on…"_

He removed his sweater in one motion and her fingers immediately worked at the buttons on his shirt. He slipped his hands on either side of her face, planting soft kisses on her hair and her forehead. Her fingers trembled so much it took her two tries to get the first three undone. He wasn't helping, massaging the back of her neck. She felt her heartrate skyrocket at the feel of his soft lips along her hairline. She let out a soft moan as his hands slid over her shoulders and down her back to cup her bottom.

" _Whoa…_

 _There's loving in your eyes that pulls me closer_

 _It's so subtle, I'm in trouble_

 _But I'd love to be in trouble with you…"_

Somehow she finished with his shirt, and she pulled one arm out of one sleeve, then the other. He only let go of her to do so, replacing his hands around her face after his shirt was off. They kissed. She bit his lower lip, making him gasp. He began to mark a trail from her ear down her neck to her bare shoulder, biting and sucking her skin. She moaned, trying to maintain some composure, her hands sliding up and down his chest. He leaned forward to kiss her again, but she wasn't finished with him yet.

She dropped to her knees and unbuckled his belt.

" _You got to give it up to me_

 _I'm screaming mercy, mercy please_

 _Just like they say it in the song_

 _Until the dawn, let's Marvin Gaye and get it on…"_

He took the name of the Deity in vain as she removed his belt and unzipped his khakis. He wasn't screaming. Yet. But mercy, mercy please, if she put her sweet mouth on-

"Shit, Elsie!" He roared. "Oh God, that's-oh, don't stop. Don't…fuck…" he gasped as his hips jerked involuntarily. He leaned over, grabbed her shoulders. "Els, please. I can't…" For a moment, he thought he was going to faint. Her tongue made a perfect circle on his hot, silky skin. "For f-fuck's sake! I can't st-"

She let go of his extended manhood and stood up. She removed her bra with one hand and yanked her panties off. Her own legs were weak, and she was trembling, frantic for his touch. She backed onto the bed, elbows first. He stripped off his shorts and followed her across the sheets on his hands and knees. She would have enjoyed the sensation of him begging, but she was not far from begging herself.

His tongue found the spot she loved, under her right breast, even as his fingers found her core. She cried out, and he was not surprised. She was wet, and her hips moved until his index finger was entirely hidden. He put his other hand on her belly, holding her down. His soft lips sucked at one nipple, then the other. His mouth moved down to her thighs.

She was vaguely aware that Meghan Trainor was singing, but for the life of her, she couldn't understand a word. Nothing existed except for his hands and his mouth. Her hands were thrust into his hair.

"Don't stop, Charlie," she gasped as his gorgeous lips feasted on her center. Then his tongue found her nub. "Oh God, yes- there, yes, oh God-"

" _I just want you for my own_

 _I got to have you…"_

He was going to be in serious trouble with her if he did not do something soon. The scent of her was everywhere, dripping from his lips. She was panting, swearing, crying out a mixture of Gaelic words and something else, her fingernails scraping against his shoulder. He parted her beautiful legs and entered her.

" _Let's Marvin Gaye and get it on_

 _You got the healing that I want_

 _Just like they say it in the song_

 _Until the dawn, let's Marvin Gaye and get it on…"_

Forget the dawn. He'd be lucky if he made it to the end of the song.

She was already keening a wild cry between a scream and singing. Then he thrust again, harder, and she really did scream. He shattered the barrier and pounded into her, feeling her body expand and contract around him.

She felt him move inside her, outside her, and she never wanted him to stop. Never. She never wanted to be parted from him. There was nothing, nothing at all except this aching pleasure that they shared. She could not control her body at all. Somehow she knew he was past control himself, that they were driven by something else, beyond both of them.

He cried out, then roared as he came inside her. For several minutes they moved together, then slower, coming down from their high.

Elsie was not sure she would ever come down. Had it really been less than twenty-four hours since he had proposed? And yet, in that short space of time, she felt the bond between them had increased a thousand-fold.

Like it was meant to be.

She didn't realize she was weeping until he sat up, removing himself from her. She hated that. She so loved it when they were one. All of her life, she had always thought of herself as independent. That had changed somehow, at a point in her life that she couldn't pin down. But she knew the cause of it was the man who lay beside her, sleepily sated.

"Elsie?" he said softly, still breathing hard. He rubbed his thumb under her eyes, catching her tears. "Are you all right?" He kissed her cheek, her forehead, her lips. He turned on his side, caressing her face with his fingers. "Tell me, love."

She turned towards him so they lay facing each other. She found his hand near her face and linked her fingers through his, wiping her face with her other hand.

"I am so happy, Charlie," she whispered when she could speak. "So desperately happy, my man. My husband to be." He smiled, so similar to the night before, and then she saw tears in his eyes. He chuckled.

"I never realized being engaged would make us cry this much," he joked. His chin wobbled as he struggled to contain his own emotions.

"You don't have to hold back," she reminded him.

"Oh, I know. I just don't want you to think I'm sad," he said. "Because I am not. I am the polar opposite of sad at this moment." He smoothed his hand across her hip.

"I would never think you're sad," she said as she moved closer to him. The soft hair on his chest tickled her breasts as she lay against him. She looked up, rested her chin on his shoulder. "The sounds you made were anything but sad, my darling." She ran a finger along the side of his face, feeling his stubble. She slipped it through his lips, pulling it back when he nipped it lightly. She gasped, her center twitching with need for him again. She lowered her head onto his chest, blushing. Even after all these months, what must he think of her? She could not seem to get enough of him.

His body vibrated as he laughed. "It's good to know," he chortled, "that you are just as mad for me as I am for you. It was all I could do not to throw you onto the bed!" He wrapped his other arm around her, caressing her back. "And you should not feel bad about crying, either. I thought you'd think me a sad old fool the first time we made love, the way I sobbed."

"Never," she stated firmly. "I don't feel bad about it," She kissed his jaw. "I was just…overwhelmed. It's still new to me. I am," she bit her lip, feeling the tears threatening again, "so desperately in love with you. I almost feel consumed, like I never existed before you, before us," she whispered.

He was quiet for a long moment. "I love you, Elsie." He shifted slightly, so that he could see her face more clearly. "When I cried after our first time, it wasn't just because I was happy. I was," he smiled softly before his expression changed. "I had lived almost my entire life alone. My work was my life, and for a long time I thought that was enough." He lifted her chin, his thumb soothing the side of her face. "I was lonely, more than I knew. And that moment, the first time, it was like…I felt my loneliness more keenly, because I finally understood what it felt like _not_ to be alone."

"Oh Charlie," she whispered, tears falling freely. He kissed her softly.

"I was just a body passing through life, before you. Before us. I didn't find my soulmate," he said. His voice cracked. "You, my love, are my soul. It took me far too long to realize that." He cried as they held each other.

"What a pair we are," he chuckled through his tears. She giggled.

"An old booby pair." He wiped his eyes, trying and failing to suppress a shuddering yawn.

"Who's sleepy now?" she teased.

"Not you, I'd say."

"I'm pleasantly drowsy," she murmured against his chest. Moments later, he relaxed into sleep. She gently touched his face.

He snored beneath her, but she didn't mind. She was drifting into sleep herself, finally. She lifted her head blearily to see the clock. Three o'clock on Christmas afternoon.

Her phone buzzed on the desk. She wanted to leave it, but she hadn't heard from Beryl. She slipped out of the bed and checked the text. It was from Tom Branson, with a picture of Sybbie.

 _Merry Christmas to Aunt Elsie! Congratulations from us as well. I don't suppose Las Vegas is in your plans? ;)_

She laughed under her breath.

 _Thank you. No plans made yet. Don't worry, I don't think Mr. Carson will go for LV, do you? Merry Christmas!_

She climbed back into bed and wrapped Charlie's arm around her, and was asleep in minutes.

 **I'm going to go lie down. Obviously, there's something wrong with me because this is the second time I've written a naked conversation between them.**

 **The song is "Marvin Gaye", by Charlie Puth and Meghan Trainor. If you have time, please review.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: SECOND CHAPTER TODAY – There's a bit of a backlog, thanks to the website going down. Thanks for the lovely reviews! This is a lot of fun to write.**

 _Text from Matthew Crawley to Tom Branson, Christmas Day, 20:04_

 _Merry Christmas, brother. And to Sybbie as well._

 _Tom Branson to Matthew Crawley, 20:05_

 _Merry Christmas! Hope you're well. We're fine here. Did you talk to M and G already?_

 _MC to TB, 20:05_

 _Y. They were at R's. Mother was there too._

 _TB to MC, 20:06_

 _We're going over there in a bit._

 _MC to TB, 20:07_

 _Mary told me_

 _TB to MC, 20:08_

 _What? What'd she tell you?_

 _MC to TB, 20:09_

 _That you're coming over later_

 _TB to MC, 20:10_

 _Oh_

 _MC to TB, 20: 11_

 _Violet and Mother told me the other thing, about C and Mrs. H._

 _MC to TB, 20:11_

 _Did you see this coming? Did she say anything to you?_

 _MC to TB, 20:11_

 _You can tell me, I'm 7000 miles from home_

 _TB to MC, 20:12_

 _She never said anything to me before, sorry_

 _MC to TB, 20:13_

 _Never mind, thought you'd know something_

 _MC to TB, 20:14_

 _Everyone's in shock_

 _TB to MC, 20:14_

 _I know_

 _TB to MC, 20: 14_

 _Sorry I can't talk longer but we're still at my mother's and we need to get over to R's house_

 _TB to MC, 20:15_

 _Merry Christmas! Hope we can FaceTime with you, maybe next week?_

 _MC to TB, 20:17_

 _Absolutely_ _._ _I'll txt you when I'm off duty. Merry Christmas!_

Tom Branson sat in the corner of the room. Normally, the cacophony of relatives' voices and the football game would have been enough to steal his attention. He glanced up, content to see Sybbie surrounded by cousins, aunts and uncles, showing her gran her new dress. He sighed. He didn't like lying to Matthew. But it wasn't lying exactly. Neither Mrs. Hughes nor Mr. Carson had said anything to him…directly.

The first time he thought something was odd was last March. Mrs. H had come to the city branch of the firm, where he worked full time. She only came there twice a week. The rest of the time, it was up to him to sort office business out, around his legal business and pro bono work. She had seemed distracted, which was unlike her. They'd had their regular half-hour meeting over coffee, then he'd left to go to court.

She had called him later that day, and asked if he could drop off her laptop the next time he was at the main office. That really piqued his interest. He couldn't remember her ever leaving her laptop behind.

A few weeks later, it was something else. He had gone into her office (she wasn't there that day) to find a legal notepad and found a pink tie in one of the filing cabinets. Granted, she was the Lost and Found for the firm in both offices, and she often had solid color ties and jackets for the men, pantyhose and sensible shoes for women; attire that forgetful attorneys sometimes forgot they needed to wear to court. But Tom knew of only one attorney at Carson, Crawley & Bates that wore pink ties on a regular basis.

Mr. Carson. And during his previous visit, he had only stayed an hour for a staff meeting, and that was in the conference room. He had not been wearing a pink tie that day.

Still, Tom might have been able to find a reasonable explanation for one of Mr. Carson's ties to be in Mrs. Hughes's city office.

Until last July. He had gone in on a Saturday, even though he hated working weekends. It had been right before Matthew left to go on military leave and he and Mary had taken Sybbie and George to the zoo for the day. Tom had noticed Mrs. Hughes's car in the garage. When he entered the suite where the firm had its office, there were no lights on anywhere, and the place seemed quite empty. He had worked for nearly an hour before getting up and going to the mini-fridge that was stocked with bottled water.

Her office door was closed. That in itself was unheard of, unless she was on a conference call or doing inventory. She'd have no need to have it closed on a weekend when the place was quiet. Otherwise, if she was working, no matter the day or whichever office she was in, her door had always been open. He had wondered if she had simply come into the city and parked in the garage, and wasn't in her office at all. There was no light on. He had been about to walk back to his own desk when he heard them.

Mrs. Hughes, and a man in her office.

Tom considered himself open-minded, but he had found his limit that day. He had been rooted to the floor, unable to move for a full minute despite knowing quite well what could possibly make a woman moan like that. The office door had rattled, as if someone was pressed against it. Then he had heard the unmistakable rumble of Mr. Carson's voice. Though Tom had never heard _his_ voice do that, either.

He had hoped he never had to hear it that way again. Ever.

He had left the office quickly, decided that he should work outside. He had taken his laptop and relevant files to the local park. It hadn't been more than half an hour later when he saw Mr. Carson walk past the park, carrying his suit jacket, tie askew and the top three buttons on his shirt undone. His usually impeccable hair was wild.

Tom had always been impressed by the man's bearing, by the way he stood and walked. His demeanor demanded respect. But on that summer day, Tom watched the managing partner _strut_ down the block, a smirk on his face. Thankfully, Mr. Carson had not seen his junior associate in the park. Walking quickly back to the garage, Tom had then caught a glimpse of Mrs. Hughes walking to her car. Her hair was down, not in its usual up-do. He could not be sure, but he had thought she walked with a bit more sway to her hips than was normal. She drove away, a brilliant smile on her face.

Her younger co-worker had never seen her look so happy. He had thought about saying something about it to Mary perhaps, or Robert. In the end, he said nothing to anyone. If they wanted to be private, then so be it.

"Daddy! Look at what I got!" Sybbie danced across the room, a DVD of _Inside Out_ in her hand. She ran to him and he swept her onto his lap.

"That's wonderful, love!" Mentally he knew he was in for a never-ending run for the next few months (she _finally_ was getting into things other than _Frozen_ ), but as he kissed his little girl, he wouldn't have it any other way. Her enthusiasm often reminded him of her mother. "Is that the last present to open?" She nodded. "Well, ask Gran to help you get all of your gifts together. We're going to Donk's house for dinner."

"Yay!" Sybbie yelled, jumping off of her father's lap. Tom headed for the bedroom where he found his coat in the pile on the bed. Kieran lounged in the doorway to the kitchen.

"Off to the posh house, eh?"

Tom ignored the snub. "Sybbie's excited to see George. Have you seen my keys?" His brother tossed them to him and he headed outside, into the freezing air. As he started the car, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He fished it out as he walked back to the house.

"Hello?"

"Hello? John?"

The skittish voice of Joseph Molesley, records clerk, reached his ear.

"No, Joe. This is Tom. Branson," he clarified. Even though Barrow worked in the other office, and was known as Thomas, they still were confused for each other sometimes.

"Oh! Tom! Sorry, I thought I was calling John. Bates, Branson, they're next to each other in my address book."

"No problem," Tom went back into the living room and picked up a bag of Sybbie's presents to take to the running car. "Merry Christmas. How's the skiing?"

"It's all right. Phyllis is great, I'm terrible, I keep falling over-"

"You're not getting yourself too badly injured, are you?"

"No, just bruised. Listen, Tom, I did mean to call John but since I've got you on the phone, maybe you can tell me."

"What's that?" Tom smiled to himself. How many times and different places had this conversation happened today?

"Is it true Mr. Carson proposed to Mrs. Hughes? They're engaged?"

"True story," Tom said. "It happened last night." He popped the trunk and put the bag inside, making sure it wouldn't spill over. "Didn't Phyllis tell you? I'm sure Mr. Carson called his own secretary to tell her personally."

"He did call her," Joe sounded flabbergasted. "Last night. And she told me then. But it sounded so incredible, I wanted to ask someone else, just to be sure she wasn't pulling my leg-"

"Joe. Would she lie to you about something like that? It's true." Tom said steadily. His mother waved at him from the doorway. "I have to go. Sybbie and I are at my family's, we have to leave now. We're going to Robert's for dinner."

"Wow," Joe said. Tom doubted he'd heard anything over the last minute. "Wow. No _wonder_ Thomas tried to call Phil about forty times today. Reception is horrible here, I'm surprised I can hear you."

"Tell her and your dad I said hello. Merry Christmas, Joe."

"I will. Merry Christmas! I hope Sybbie is having a great day!"

"Oh, she is. Bye."

"Bye, Tom."

Tom and Sybbie hugged all the Bransons before leaving. By the time he got her strapped in the car and headed to the Crawleys, he knew they'd be a little late. Oh well. His thoughts drifted to Sybil, as they always did during the holidays. Every day, really.

He wished he could see her reaction to the engagement news. No doubt she'd be thrilled. Both she and Tom had been particularly close to Elsie, even though Sybil had known Mr. Carson since she was born. But Elsie had been a stalwart supporter of them as a couple, even after Robert had wanted to get Tom fired after finding out he was dating his youngest daughter. Mr. Carson at the time had even been in favor of him leaving. He'd come around eventually. But not Elsie. She was there from the beginning.

A huge grin split his face as he pulled into the Crawleys' long driveway. He was thrilled for her. For them. In a way, it seemed poetic that they found happiness together.

After all, it was she who'd slipped the round-trip tickets to Vegas into his hands that day in the parking lot several years ago, when he thought he was on the verge of being kicked out. "Just do it, lad," was all she'd said. So he and Sybil had flown to Sin City for the weekend and gotten married.

He still hadn't told anyone who gave them the tickets. He never would.

Like he would never tell where Sybbie's college fund came from, even though Robert still pestered him about it from time to time.

It hadn't been two months after Sybil's funeral. He was just beginning to gather the shards of his life back together again when the managing partner had knocked on his office door. The older gentleman had said nothing, the grief etched on his face. He had slid a manila envelope across Tom's desk, then left. The paperwork inside was revealing enough. But it was the post-it note Tom kept inside his wallet that moved him the most.

 _No need to say anything to anyone_ _._ _It's for the baby. For her sake._


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hoo boy, this turned into a long chapter, with some angst. I still picture this to be a mostly very happy story, but of course, they have a history. I still own nothing. Thanks for the kind reviews!**

Elsie glanced at the clock. 11:50. She'd have to leave soon, or Beryl would never let her hear the end of it. She sighed, reluctantly getting up from the kitchen table. She opened the French doors to the balcony one last time, feeling the cold, but not frigid, air. Fifty degrees on the 27th of December! The sunshine felt warm on her face. Closing the doors, she gathered the last dishes from their late breakfast and headed for the sink. Charles was singing in the shower. She bit back a laugh.

"Charlie?" she called, the steam pouring into the hallway when she cracked the bathroom door open. "I have to go in about ten minutes."

He didn't stop singing when he heard her open the door, but he did drop to a hum. "I'll be out shortly." Shutting the water off, he stepped out and grabbed a towel. It smelled like her. He continued singing quietly under his breath as he dried off. "Dashing away with a smoothing iron, she stole my heart away…"

She pulled a dark blue button-down shirt out of her closet. Taking off her robe, she put on a pair of jeans. She was glad that she'd showered earlier. When he wasn't on a schedule, he could stay in there for an hour. If she didn't join him.

He walked into her room, his hair still dripping, wearing nothing but the towel. He heard her breath hitch. He held the towel together with one hand and reached for her hand with the other. "Are you sure you have to go so soon? You're not fully dressed either," he said, a smile growing on his lips at the sight of her flushed face. He stepped forward until he was right next to her. He pulled the long auburn strands of her hair over her ear and left a long, lingering kiss on her neck.

"Charlie," she breathed. "I have to go, I really do." With difficulty, she pushed on his chest and stepped away, fumbling with the rest of the buttons on her shirt. "Beryl's already texted me twice this morning. I think she thinks I'm not going to come for lunch." She turned back to him in amusement. "I don't want to give her any more reason to give me a hard time today."

"Fair enough," he said, even though his body protested. He kept the towel fastened around him as she finished dressing. She put her arms around his waist and drew him down for a kiss. He gasped when she nipped his bottom lip. He kept a tight hold around her with his other arm. "If you're going to kiss me like that, you can't expect me to let you go, woman," he growled. She kissed him once more, quickly.

"You go and talk to Robert," she said, her voice low. "I'll be back later this afternoon. And then…" she traced a finger down his chest, over his scar. He groaned aloud.

"How am I supposed to function now?" She grinned, sticking her tongue out at him as she went back into the kitchen to grab her coat and purse.

"You'll manage. Remember to lock the door when you leave. I love you," she came back to give him one last kiss.

"I will," he promised. "Tell Beryl and Bill hello. I love you, too!" She waved as she left.

The drive to the Mason farm from her condo took about fifteen minutes. There was more traffic on the roads, no doubt because a lot of people were coming home after the holiday. She sat at a long red light, tapping on the steering wheel. Remembering the feel of his scar. She shuddered. _You were such a fool then, Elsie._ Eight years ago, 2007. A lifetime ago.

After seventeen years working for Mr. Carson, she'd begun to chafe somewhat. At the time, she'd been dating Steven Russell, one of the partners at Haxby & Associates. That was after she had ended a short relationship with another partner, Pete Halton. The two men had approached her, separately, offering her the position as office manager at Haxby. A third, Richard Carlisle, had also approached her, but she had zero interest in what he was offering.

It was not illegal to approach an employee at another firm with an offer; plenty of attorneys and staff had gone from one office to another. But to do it in the open was considered untoward, and very unprofessional. Mr. Carson had steadfastly refused to do so in his hiring practices. When she told him of the offer, and that she was considering it, he was extremely short with her.

" _Well," he snapped, glaring at her from behind his desk, his face uncharacteristically livid. "If you're so unhappy here, then I see no reason why you shouldn't accept." He swung around in his desk chair, his back to her, absorbed in his work. She stood for a moment, stunned at his rudeness, then angry with his petulance._

" _I'm surprised with you, Mr. Carson," she said, feeling the acid between her teeth, "Normally if one of your employees is unhappy, you at least_ _ **try**_ _to see how you can repair the situation. But I see I don't deserve that same consideration."_

" _You've made it clear that you have reached your professional goals here," he fumed, not turning around. "I don't see the need to give you any further reflection." He paused. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."_

" _Oh, I see," she seethed. "That's all you care about, isn't it? Go on, do your work, and do it well. It's all you have left." She huffed for a moment, sure he had heard her, and left his office in a fury. She slammed her own office door shut, and felt the wall vibrate, the same wall he shared._

 _She wondered why she had been worrying about him, the amount of work he had recently taken on. If he wanted to work himself into the ground, why should she care?_

She had left work that day, intent on accepting the offer, to get away from that office, that firm, that infuriating managing partner. She'd cried that night at home. She had thought they were at least friends.

She had told Steven to expect an answer from her within two weeks. Privately, she prepared herself to leave. She avoided him as much as possible, not wishing to provoke his ire or hers, again.

 _On the Tuesday after her confrontation with Mr. Carson, she was sitting at her desk, trying to sort out the details of a CLE presentation being held later in the week. In the storage room next to hers, the young associate William Mason was sorting through complicated box files, helped by Joe Molesley, then a mail clerk._

 _Her desk phone rang, a long ring. Someone from outside the office, then. She glanced at the number before answering. It looked familiar, one of the attorneys?_

" _This is Elsie Hughes, at Carson & Crawley."_ _John Bates was working as a partner, but had not yet been added to the firm name._

" _Mrs. Hughes? It's Matthew, Matthew Crawley. Something's happened-"_

" _What? What's happened?" Somehow, some way, she knew it was him. She stood up, bashing her knee against her desk, the phone clutched to her ear._

" _Mr. Carson collapsed. Outside the courtroom, we were waiting to go in, he was dictating to Phyllis-"_

" _He_ _ **collapsed**_ _? Mr. Carson? At the courthouse?" Her voice cracked, a high pitch. The sensation of falling was overwhelming. She gripped the desk so hard her knuckles turned white._

" _Yes, he just keeled over. Dickie Merton was there, he tore his tie off, laid him on the floor. Thank God the medical examiner, Dr. Clarkson, was there. He and Dickie did CPR while Phyllis called 911. We've just arrived at the hospital, Mary's in the ambulance with him, we were following behind." There was a garbled noise, Matthew directing Phyllis Baxter, Mr. Carson's paralegal and secretary, where to park._

" _Where are you? Which hospital?" The blood pounded in her ears._

" _We're at Anderson-"_

" _I'm on my way." She slammed the phone down and was out the door. She vaguely remembered William and Joe peeking out of the storage room, faces white; Ethel Parks, the new secretary, wide-eyed in shock, Beryl, in the doorway of her office, her mouth open in a question. She hurtled down the stairs, knocking Charles Bryant against the rail. Anna stood up at the receptionist's desk as she ran past. There was no time, no time to say anything, not even to Anna._

 _She prayed for the first time in years in the car. God, don't let him die. I have to see him. Please, please, don't let him die. I'll do anything…_

 _Matthew, Mary and Phyllis waited with her in the waiting room. She sat rigidly, not moving, no speech. She flinched when Phyllis touched her hand, asked if she wanted a bottle of water. She nodded, afraid to speak. When the doctor came out, he explained that they had done emergency bypass surgery. Mr. Carson was alive, but in critical condition. A cry escaped from Elsie before she could stop herself. She held a hand over her mouth. Her relief was so palpable she was sure she could see it rolling off of her._ _ **Thank God.**_

" _May I see him? He's my godfather," Mary explained, her eyes wide, color beginning to return to her face._

" _Are you family?"_

" _No, he's not a blood relation, but-"_

" _I'm sorry, but you can't."_

" _We don't think he has any family," Matthew explained as Phyllis looked stricken. Elsie was still trying to control herself. The doctor nodded. He sent for a nurse with Mr. Carson's medical information. The young woman paged through the chart._

" _I wish this was Sybil's shift," Mary muttered under her breath. "She'd let me back to see him."_

" _Is your name Elsie Hughes?" The nurse asked._

 _Mary shook her head, looking confused. "No-"_

" _I'm Elsie Hughes," Elsie croaked through her dry lips. The nurse nodded._

" _You can come with me."_

" _Why her?" Mary asked, standing up. Matthew touched her wrist, trying to get her to sit._

" _She's first on his contact list in case of an emergency," the nurse said._

 _She had forgotten he had put her on the list. Strange that he hadn't put Robert or Mary first. She walked behind the nurse to his room._

 _He was a swath of tubes and bandages. The machines beeped and she bit back a sob at the IV in his arm. He was still unconscious, but she was steadied by the visible rise and fall of his chest. She gently touched his hand, told him she was there. She struggled to control her emotions, feeling a tear run down her face. She didn't think he could hear her, but said the only thing she could think of saying._

" _I'm not leaving you, Mr. Carson. So don't you dare leave me."_

She had called Steven the following night to tell him she couldn't accept the offer. A week later, she had ended their relationship over dinner.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Bill was in the driveway, closing the bed of his truck. Elsie got out, looking suspiciously at the CR-V parked to the side of the ranch-style house. "Back, Captain! Go on, Morgan!" she shooed the golden retriever and black lab before they smothered her.

"Over here, lads!" Bill whistled and the dogs ran into the garage. "Anna got here a few minutes ago. How are you? I hear congratulations are in order," he said, coming over to give her a hug.

"Thanks, Bill." She smiled, glancing at the car again. "Is Poppy here, too?"

"She sure is," he nodded. "But she's going for a ride in the truck with me while you girls have lunch."

She stepped through the front door, leaving her shoes by the welcome mat. Small feet pounded down the hallway while she took off her coat.

"Nana Elsie!" Poppy Bates raced around the corner, her blonde hair woven into a long braid. Elsie laughed, swinging her up into her arms. She kissed her multiple times, giving her a squeeze as they went back to the kitchen, relishing the feel of the little girl's arms around her neck.

"I missed you, my darling girl! Did you have a good Christmas? Did Santa bring you lots of presents?"

"Uh- _huh_! I got a new doll, and books, and a kitchen set! I like to bake lots of things, like Aunt Beryl does-"

"She's better than I am, no doubt," Beryl hung up her towel on the oven rack. She grinned cheekily at Poppy. "Ask Nana Elsie what you asked me a few minutes ago." Poppy pursed her lips as Elsie bounced her on her hip. Anna and Daisy sat at the round wooden table, looking on in amusement.

"Are you gonna marry Mr. Carson?" The way it came out, marry sounded like _mawwy._

"Yes, I am," Elsie said, ignoring the others. "Does that answer your question, lass?" Poppy dropped her head to her shoulder, suddenly shy.

"Gone on, ask her," Anna prompted.

"Does he _kiss_ you?" she asked, her voice muffled on Elsie's shirt. Elsie gave the others her best glare over the girl's shoulder. Beryl shrugged, pulling an innocent face.

"Yes, he does," she said, deciding to be honest with the child.

"Is it nice?"

Elsie put her down, giving her a playful swat on the behind. "All right, that's enough questions for one day."

"Oh, I think not," Beryl said in an ominous tone. Bill came into the kitchen.

"Are you ready to go, Popeye?" He winked. Elsie helped the little girl into her coat. Poppy and Bill left, the child chattering all the way down the hallway, and the room was suddenly quiet. Elsie sat down next to Anna, giving her a hug.

"I didn't think I'd see you today! How did you know I was going to be here?"

"Beryl called me," Anna said, raising an eyebrow. "I couldn't resist the invitation."

"I just came by so Dad could check the radiator on my car," Daisy said. "Then when they told me you were coming, I thought I'd stay and…visit." She smiled, showing her dimples.

"I see. It's good to see you, too." Elsie put her elbows on the table, folding her hands, trying not to smile.

"Oh! Let's see your ring!" Anna said, and they all crowded around her hand. The younger women oohed and raved.

"Well, he's got good taste, I'll give him that," Beryl said, the cheeky grin returning. "But then again, I already knew that." They started eating the plate of sandwiches.

"So…" Anna began. "How did he propose? Where were you?"

"Was it romantic?" asked Daisy.

"Let's dispense with those questions, and get to the heart of the matter," said Beryl, pouring a glass of white wine and handing it to Elsie. "So how long have you and Mr. Charles Carson been doing the nasty?"

Daisy choked on her sandwich and Anna snorted water out of her nose.

"What sort of question is _that_ , Beryl Patmore Mason?" Elsie said, her jaw dropping. She couldn't stop the blush from covering her face.

"A direct one. You know me, I never beat around the bush."

Elsie shook her head as she sipped her wine. "I am not answering that very crude question."

"Good," said Anna, her face ablaze. "Because I don't want to hear the answer."

"Why else did you come?" Beryl asked her. "And don't try to deny it either, I know you're just as curious as I am!"

Anna covered her face with her hands. Daisy finished coughing and turned to Elsie. "Well, how long has it been then?"

" _Daisy_!" Elsie gasped. She looked at Beryl in an appeal to mercy. Her friend sat back, arms folded across her chest, her beady eyes fixed on her. Elsie sighed, closing her eyes. There was no escape. "Last June," she whispered.

"Well, I'm surprised it took him six months to propose," Beryl said, a satisfied smile on her face. Daisy grinned. Anna, on the other hand, looked stunned.

"How on earth did you manage that? I mean, without anyone finding out?" she asked. Elsie detected something in her expression that tugged at her heart. "Mary told me that Mr. Carson said you'd been with each other since last January."

A twinge of annoyance rippled through Elsie. He'd told Mary, of course he had. _Steady on, there's nothing to get upset about. They're all bound to know sooner rather than later._

"I'm sorry you had to find out from her," she said quietly. "And as for the rest of it-" her cheeks burned anew- "we simply wanted to be private. He didn't want to cause a fuss at work. And neither did I."

Anna nodded, relaxing a little. She still had a line between her eyes. Elsie knew they would have to talk later.

"You did a marvelous job there," Beryl said, sipping her wine. "Hardly anyone noticed a thing. Except me, of course."

"What did you notice?" Elsie was curious. She had spent most of the last year compartmentalizing her life, so the separation between her private and professional lives was complete. She thought she had been successful.

Beryl sighed. "I think you forget I've known you for a good twenty-five years. And I've known old Charlie longer. I'm fairly observant, you know. The way you two would talk to each other these past months, the way you'd look at each other, little things, like he got you flowers-"

"That was on Staff Appreciation Day," Elsie said. "He bought Phyllis flowers as well."

"Yes, but hers were a nice bouquet that he obviously bought at the grocery store. Yours were from the florist, more personal."

"How sweet!" Daisy said, resting her head on her hand.

"And that day your car wouldn't start last spring, he spent half an hour getting rained on while he hooked the cables up and re-started your car."

"I never knew that," Elsie said, her eyes widening. "I was in a seminar, I thought Alfred did that!" She put her hand to her lips. _Dear, sweet man._

"He stopped the lad before he got to the parking lot, said he'd do it himself. You remember, don't you, Anna?" Beryl said, turning to her. "We were talking at the front desk, and Mr. Carson came down and asked if Alfred had gone out. When you said he had, he went outside. Not two minutes later, here came Mr. Nugent back inside." Her eyes softened. "The managing partner wouldn't do that for just anyone."

"It's true," Anna said. Her eyes shone. "I don't know why I didn't notice that." She smiled, the small gap between her teeth showing. "You're a lucky woman, Mrs. Elsie Hughes. Almost as lucky as me."

"Thank you. I quite agree," Elsie said shakily. Anna took her hand.

"So can you tell us about the proposal?"

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She held Poppy, fast asleep on her shoulder, as Anna opened the car door. Elsie bent over and carefully put her in. The child twitched, but kept on sleeping. Anna strapped her in, then closed the door as quietly as she could. The sun was low in the horizon.

"Bill wore her out. She ran around the fields with the dogs most of the afternoon," Anna said, watching her daughter, a tender expression on her face. She gave Elsie another hug.

"I want you to know…that I'm thrilled for you. As is John. And we're thrilled for Mr. Carson as well. Heaven knows he deserves some happiness, too," she said. "I'm not angry with you, truly." She looked down, pulling a stray hair over her ear. "I just…we've been close, you and I. I guess I thought you'd tell me if something was going on."

"I thought about telling you, several times," Elsie said. "But I didn't want to tell you, and then nothing to come of it." She bit her lip. "You've told me so many times in the past few years that you wanted me to be happy. I didn't want you to be disappointed or hurt if we had a falling out. Or to think ill of Mr. Carson, if it came to that. I was just trying to protect you."

"I don't need more protection." Anna said stoutly. "I've had disappointment. And hurt," she reminded Elsie. "I could've handled it if you told me, even if you would have broken it off later."

A lump rose in Elsie's throat. "The truth is," she whispered, "I have loved him for such a long time that I never thought he would feel the same way. I could have endured with a broken heart, alone. I've done that for years." She took a deep breath. "But I couldn't bear it if we had separated and…and everyone knew. I was protecting my own heart, not yours. Call me selfish."

Anna smiled, though she had tears in her eyes. "You are anything but that. You've given so much of yourself, not just to me, but to a lot of people. I agree with Beryl. You have a wonderful man, someone who loves you." She pulled her gloves out of her pockets and put them on. "If you'll take my advice, if he wants to spoil you," her eyes danced, "let him. You deserve it."

They embraced once more before going their separate ways.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I love reviews – thank you! Julian Fellowes refuses to get back to me, so I still own nothing.**

He shuffled up the sidewalk and keyed the code at the entrance. The door unlocked and he went in. He climbed the stairs, thinking Elsie would like it better if he did that, rather than using the elevator. He'd lost a lot of weight since his surgery, but he didn't want to risk his health. Especially now.

Robert's office was dark. He rolled his eyes, thinking Robert would do better to just tell Cora the truth. If he wanted to go to a bar and watch football, so be it. But why tell his wife he was going to the office? He hoped it was just Rob blowing off steam, and not a repeat of the Jane Moorsum saga.

He sent a quick text.

 _Charles Carson to Robert Crawley, December 27_ _th_ _, 12:48 pm_

 _I'm at the office. Will be here awhile. I went by your house, C said you were here_

Walking into his corner office, he turned on the light. He ignored the files sitting on the floor and chairs, the papers on his desk. He went over to the window where the bookshelf full of pictures rested.

They were all there – every attorney, every staffer, every law clerk who had walked these halls over the last thirty years. If he had included those people before he became managing partner, there would be far too many for the shelves. As it was, he could barely remember some of the faces in the older pictures. Violet would remember; she remembered everyone.

He saw Jane in one of the pictures. She was in a group that included most of the attorneys in the city office now. It had been his decision not to fire her, or to insist she resign; she was too good of a lawyer to replace. Instead, he had offered her a position in the city office. Still with the firm, but away from Robert. She had gladly accepted. At the Christmas party a couple of weeks ago, she had told him her son Freddie was doing well at his private high school.

The picture of Elsie was one of the largest on the shelves. It sat in the middle, right next to the picture of him, Robert and John. He picked it up and held the frame in his hands, a smile blooming across his face at the sight of her. It had been taken five years ago, in the summer. She looked directly into the camera. She wore simple capris and a white polo shirt, that dazzling smile on her face, the sun catching the auburn streaks in her hair.

Taking a closer look, she wasn't looking directly at the photographer, he mused. The man had been hired to take candid shots, so it wasn't a posed picture. Mary and Anna were in the background, chatting with someone who was cut off. Elsie had been looking at something else behind the photographer. He could tell by where her eyes were. He would have to ask her sometime if she remembered what had caught her attention.

His heart leapt as he thought about putting a new picture on the shelf – one of him and Elsie together. Or should it go on his desk? A larger one on the shelf, and a smaller one for the desk. He nodded to himself, satisfied with the plan.

His phone buzzed.

 _Robert Crawley to Charles Carson, December 27_ _th_ _, 12:56 pm_

 _I'll be there in a few minutes. I'm close enough to walk. You didn't tell C that I wasn't at the office, did you?_

He snorted. Sometimes Robert acted like a schoolboy.

 _CC to RC_

 _Of course not. Just tell me you were watching football, or something else equally harmless._

 _RC to CC_

 _Nothing to worry about._

 _CC to RC_

 _There had better not be._

He put the phone down on his desk and sank into his chair. While he was here, he thought he should at least do something constructive, even though he had planned on coming in during the week.

It was bound to be strange for the staff. Everyone knew about the engagement by now. He suddenly shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He hadn't thought about it before. It was one thing to have their professional lives here, and their private lives away from work. But come Monday, tomorrow, everyone would look at them differently. He ran fingers through the curl on his forehead. Elsie loved untidying his hair.

She would be fine, he knew. She was a consummate professional, hardly ever letting her personal affairs interfere with the job. He, on the other hand…

He gulped, thinking about her sitting on the other side of the wall. Bent over her laptop, her head tilted as she held the phone against her ear, her neck curved at an angle.

It had been curved at that angle, precisely that angle when he kissed her neck earlier, before she left to go visit Beryl. Like that day last summer when he'd gone to join her in the city office. He'd planned on doing some work, told himself that he could read easily, sitting in her office as she finished a project. He'd been unable to concentrate at all. Finally, he had gotten up to stand behind her as she sat at her desk. He had only meant to give her a kiss on the cheek. Somehow it had escalated to her back against the door, her legs wrapped around his, his hands holding her firm behind, both of their cries echoing through the empty office.

He wiped sweat from his brow. That incident was an anomaly. When the office was occupied, it was different. Somehow it was bearable, possible to work in the same building, sometimes even in the same room as her. As long as no one knew except themselves.

But how in the hell was he supposed to be professional when everyone, from the college kids in the file room to Robert, knew they were engaged? He was the managing partner, for Pete's sake. If he couldn't hold it together, how could he expect everyone else to?

"You're far away. I wonder who's on your mind."

His head shot up. Robert leaned in the doorway, a bemused smile on his face.

"I'd enjoy your discomfort, but I don't want to risk not getting an invitation to your wedding. Congratulations," he said, extending his hand.

"Thank you for that," Charles said, shaking his hand. "And of course you'll be invited, the whole family will." He paused. "Although I have to say we haven't made any plans yet, not even a date."

"Well, if you want my advice, let Mrs. Hughes do most of the planning, and for God's sake don't contradict her," Robert sat down on the other side of Charles's desk. "It just occurred to me – is she going to change her name? That would take some getting used to. For everyone, but especially for Mama. Mr. and Mrs. Carson?"

Mrs. Carson…the thought made him speechless with joy.

"That smile should be illegal. I take it she _will_ change her name then?"

Charles's smile faded. "I don't know. I haven't asked her about it yet." Worry swept over him. There suddenly seemed to be so many things he had not thought of. They had spoken before the engagement about moving in together, but as no one then knew of their relationship, that idea had been set aside.

"As long as you do ask her. If I've learned anything about nearly thirty-five years of marriage, never assume your wife thinks the same as you do." There was a long pause. Robert leaned his head against the back of the tall chair. "It came as quite a surprise to all of us, you know. About your engagement." He raised his eyebrows. "To be honest, Carson, I'm rather impressed."

"Impressed? About what?" He was curious. "Was it so out of character?" Robert leaned forward and grabbed a mint off the desk.

"For most men, no. Coming from you…yes. And then there is your choice of bride." He popped the mint into his mouth. "Upon further reflection, Mrs. Hughes is the natural choice in my mind. But then I've had a closer view of your relationship than most people we know."

"What did your mother think?" Charles could not resist the question, twirling a pen. Robert laughed.

"She was rendered speechless for a full minute. Well done. You and Mrs. Hughes were the talk of Christmas Day at our house. I hope you don't mind, but Mama told Matthew."

Charles shook his head. "I don't mind. Everyone would be told eventually. Just because he's abroad shouldn't mean he's kept in the dark."

"Can I ask you something?" Robert suddenly seemed nervous. "Mary said the most extraordinary thing. She said you and Mrs. Hughes had been seeing each other since last January. Is this true? You've been together nearly a full year?"

"I…" Charles hesitated. If at all possible, he wanted to keep the details private. On the other hand, how realistic was that now? "Not a full year, but close to it."

Robert's eyes widened. He shook his head. "Well, you know that I have the bad habit of missing what's in front of my nose." He sighed, slapping his hands on his knees before standing again. "At least this is a much more pleasant surprise than when Tom told me he and Sybil were dating." He headed for the door. "I'd best get some work done while I'm here."

"That's a good idea," Charles said. "You'll be in at least a few days this week, I trust?"

"Yes, although Cora and I planned to take the grandchildren sledding on Tuesday."

"Be careful," Charles cautioned as he pulled a pile of scribbled notes across his desk. "You don't want to accidently fly into a tree."

"Oh, you know Cora. I'll be so bundled up I won't be able to walk." He stopped, put a couple of fingers on Charles's desk. "I probably shouldn't interfere, but I think you should talk to Mary."

Charles looked up from his notes. "I did. Thursday night, after Elsie and I got engaged."

Robert shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, well…you know Mary. I get the impression she's upset. Because she didn't know about you and Mrs. Hughes before."

Swinging the chair around, Charles raised his eyebrows. "We've always been close, but I don't see how that is any of her business. Or yours."

" _I_ know that, but I'm telling you, you shouldn't expect the welcoming committee from her tomorrow," Robert said, an edge in his voice. "My friend, please don't misunderstand me. I am very happy for you, as is Cora. I believe Mary is as well. But you know as well as I do she likes to come first. She won't relinquish that title easily, even when it comes to you."

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"Mmmmm," Charles murmured. He took a sip of his merlot. "Yes, that spot just in the back of my head-that's it." He sighed, his eyes closed. "You're a darling, thank you." Elsie massaged the back of his neck, leaning over him from her position on the couch. He leaned against it as he sat on the floor. "Do you think," he rumbled, "I should have told Mary that we were in a relationship earlier? To cushion the blow?"

Elsie huffed under her breath as she kneaded the tight muscles. She rolled her eyes, glad he couldn't see her expression. "Absolutely not," she said. "You were one hundred percent right when you told Robert it was none of her business." She felt a pang of guilt thinking of Anna. "Anyway, we're past that stage now," she amended, patting his back. "Too late to go back. You should take her to lunch this week. Make her feel special."

She bit her tongue to keep from saying anything else. He got so worked up, worrying about what Mary Crawley would think. She told herself it was natural, that it was good he had a strong, paternal-like relationship with his goddaughter. _But isn't it past time that you stopped treating her like a child? She's thirty-three years old, for goodness' sake! So stop encouraging him,_ her inner voice scolded. "All I'm saying is to be honest with her," she said, choosing her words carefully. He turned around, looking up.

"Is that what you were with Anna? Honest? And she understood you," he grabbed her hand as she pulled him onto the couch.

"Yes, I was honest," she said quietly, handing him his glass. "What else could I be? I do care about what she thinks. Just as you care about what Mary thinks," _The difference between the two being that Anna doesn't believe the world owes her anything._

"I know you think I indulge her," he grumbled, putting an arm around her. "And I know there's some truth in that. She's had me wrapped around her little finger since she was tiny." He drank the last of the merlot. "I just need to get her used to the fact that there's another woman who has me wrapped up." He kissed her cheek. "A woman that I love very…very…very...much." Each word was punctuated by a kiss, each one traveling lower than the last.

Elsie melted at his touch. "And one that loves you back," she whispered, her fingers sliding into his hair. She pulled his face up to hers and kissed him, losing herself in the feel of his mouth on hers. He sat sideways, his hands trailing down her thighs, his long fingers sliding underneath them.

The mantle clock struck half-past ten. They both sighed, leaning their foreheads against each other.

"I have to go, love," he whispered. "I don't have any suitable clothes here."

"I know."

Neither of them moved.

"What are we going to do tomorrow?" he asked. It almost sounded like a whine. He pulled her closer for another searing kiss, his tongue caressing hers, making her gasp. Her hands grasped his shoulders tighter. "I won't be able to think straight, knowing you're next door. The only reason I got any work done today-" he kissed her nose- "is because you weren't there."

"We shall carry on as usual," she breathed, even though she had no idea how. They got up slowly. He grabbed his keys from the counter while she brought his coat from the closet. "It won't always be like this."

He slipped into his coat, nodding. He went to kiss her goodnight, stopping only when the clock struck a quarter to eleven.

"I love you, Charlie," she whispered as she opened the door to the hallway. "Text me when you get home." She shivered, feeling the loss of him already.

"I love you. I'll let you know when I get in. Good night." She watched him go down the stairs to the garage before going back into the condo. She leaned against the front door, running a hand through her hair. Tomorrow, into the lion's den.

This was going to be harder than she thought.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Here's a flashback chapter. It went in a slightly different direction then I thought it would. Please let me know what you think, whether it is good or bad. I still own nothing.**

 _February 1990_

"…and that's why I would do well here, at Carson & Crawley." The young woman finally stopped talking long enough to take a breath. Robert spoke before she had a chance to disturb the blessed quiet.

"Thank you very much, Miss Moro. We appreciate your time-"he and Charles stood up, hands extended- "and will get in touch with you shortly." They shook hands, and yet another applicant left. As soon as the door shut, Robert groaned and sank back into his chair. He stuck the heels of his hands in his eyes.

"I told Mama she should have sat in on the interviews instead of me. One look from her would have shut her up in no time." Charles leaned back in his chair, daring to loosen his tie.

"I hate to say it, but so far Miss O'Brien has been the best candidate," he grumbled, scribbling on his notepad. "That's the last one for today, and only a few more this week before the deadline." He sighed.

"At least Miss Moro was pretty," Robert mumbled under his breath. Charles glared at him.

"We're hiring an office manager, not a receptionist. And you know as well as I do we can't just hire some empty-headed bubble. We need an organizer, someone who can run the day-to-day operations. Someone we can trust."

"That chap from Monday, Mr. Rolan, he wasn't empty-headed. But less good-looking," Robert said, leaning on his elbow. "And he's been a manager for the last three years, unlike O'Brien."

"As competent as he appeared to be, we can't hire him," Charles said bluntly. "His previous employer said he overindulges in alcohol too often."

Robert let out a huff and put his hands behind his head. "We can't hire O'Brien as the office manager. I know Cora wants it, they've been friends since their university days. But Mama won't allow it. She's merely an adequate secretary, nothing special."

" _I_ won't allow it," Charles growled. "Which is more important." He was secretly surprised that Violet had not sat in on the interviews. He had only been managing partner for four years, since the sudden death of Robert's father, and this was the first time interviews had been conducted for a senior staff position without her.

"What are you going to do?" Robert asked. He looked at his watch, then jumped up from the conference table. "Shit. It's 5:15. I told Cora I'd be home by 5:30 today."

"Mary and Edith still have the flu?"

"Yes, though they're recovering. By some miracle, the baby hasn't caught it." He left the room in a hurry, calling over his shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow, for the next interview at least. 2:00."

But when Charles got to the office the next morning, there was a message waiting for him. Cora had caught the flu, and Robert had to stay home. It was just as well. Charles was convinced he would have to hire O'Brien, and the thought depressed him. At 1:45, he went to the small conference room next to the receptionist's desk to await the next applicant.

Elsie was outside, shivering in her car. _What were you thinking, giving your notice? You should have waited until you got another job before telling Mr. Booker you quit._ She blew on her hands. This was her third interview this week, with two more lined up the following week. She closed her eyes. She could not have stayed at Eyer & Frederickson one day more. It was a big firm, with a lot of responsibility and a salary to match. A jewel on any office manager's resume. But she was thirty-four years old, and had seen enough to recognize a poisonous working environment.

She was sure that Carson & Crawley was not the place for her, but until she got an offer, she would continue going through interviews. It was a small office. It had a reputation for being traditional, bordering on being stuffy and old-fashioned. Not her style at all.

Her friend May Bird had some encouraging information. "The managing partner may be an old fuddy-duddy, despite being so young. Forty-ish," she had said over lunch. "But he won't stand for harassment against the female staff. He fired an attorney last year, a promising one too, a real up-and-comer. Caught the bastard touching one of the secretaries without her consent. Marched him to the front door himself."

Elsie took a deep breath, checked her hair in the mirror, and stepped out of the car. She sat for only a minute before being shown into the tiny conference room. For a split second, it felt claustrophobic, bringing back memories. Only one man sat at the table. His suit and tie were immaculate. He got up immediately when she entered.

"Please, Miss Richards, keep the door open. Thank you," he said, as the receptionist left. He offered his hand across the table. "I'm Mr. Charles Carson, the managing partner here. You must be Mrs. Elsie Hughes." His grip was firm, but not overbearing. "Please, sit down. I'm sorry Mr. Crawley couldn't be here this afternoon. His wife is ill."

"That's quite all right," she said. He was a surprise. He had a full head of thick, black hair and was far taller and broader than she had pictured. In some men she'd worked for, the effect would be alarming. She found his deep voice soothing.

"I must say, I was impressed with your resume," he began. "Although I am curious – why leave Eyer & Frederickson? They must think highly of you, hiring you as their office manager so young. I mean no disrespect, of course."

"Thank you," she colored slightly. "The reasons I left were personal." There was an awkward pause. He cleared his throat.

"Were any of these reasons the actions of a Mr. Kevin Frederickson?" His expression was inscrutable.

Her face flushed full red. She looked down at her hands in her lap.

"There is no shame in leaving because you were mistreated, Mrs. Hughes. No one should be subjected to such behavior." She nodded, her gaze still down.

He silently cursed himself. What had possessed him to make her uncomfortable? He changed the subject as quick as he could. "Tell me about your education. You went to night school to gain your degree?"

"Yes," she said, looking up, happy to talk of something else. "You see, my family came here from Scotland. My parents were supportive, but there was no extra money for me to go to the university. So I worked my way through."

He tilted his head, resting it on his fist. "What sort of jobs did you work while you went to school?"

"Anything I could find that accommodated my class schedule," she said. "I've been a dishwasher. I worked at a hotel for three years as a maid, then as their receptionist. I've scrubbed floors and helped sort books after the renovation at the city library. I worked as a waitress for a long time. One summer, I painted fences," she grinned. "That was perhaps my worst experience."

"Oh?" He asked, clearly intrigued.

"I'm a Scot," she said. When he shook his head in confusion, she laughed lightly. "The sunburn was terrible."

"Indeed," he rumbled, eyebrows raised. Her rich auburn hair and bright blue eyes had not escaped his notice. "Well, Mrs. Hughes, I can sympathize. I worked my way through university as well."

"What did you do?" she asked, before biting her lip. _This is no time to be impertinent. He's asking the questions, not you._

"Many of the same jobs as you," he said, unfazed by her boldness. "I've scrubbed floors myself, and toilets, for that matter. I was a waiter at a fraternity, setting the tables for their formal dinners. Occasionally, I served drinks. My worst experience, though, was as a juggler at a circus."

"Why? I mean, if you don't mind my asking," she said, unable to stop herself. "Was the juggling difficult?"

"By itself, no. But some in the audience thought it was funny to chuck things at me while I was dealing with more dangerous objects. I was always terrified of accidently slicing off fingers."

"Oh dear, we can't have that. I'm sure you did the best you could," she said, a broad smile spreading across her face. He smiled back, before looking at her file again.

He could not remember an interview going so smoothly, or so quickly. She answered all of his questions well, with intelligence and a frankness that impressed him. She was firm, but added a warmth he thought necessary to oversee staff. He briefly thought how it would work, since so many of the attorneys were older. Then again, many of them as well as some in the staff were approaching retirement. In a few years, age would not matter. In the meantime, he was sure she could command the appropriate respect.

He only hoped he could show her the proper respect. More than once, he found his mind drifting, thinking about her soft but clear lilt, her small form, and the curve of her hips, before yanking himself back into the present. The last thing she needed was another lecherous boss. Kevin Frederickson was a first-class creep.

They had finished the questions concerning the job itself, and he had asked her for any questions she might have of him. This being done, he was inclined to let her go. But looking at her information, he could not keep his curiosity in check.

"Mrs. Hughes, one more question before you go."

"What is that?" she asked, folding her hands on the table. He didn't see any mark on her fingers, no white band betraying the ghost of a ring.

"Why did you put on your application that you prefer the honorific of Missus, as opposed to Miss?"

She pressed her lips together, not surprised by the question. "I was married when I was very young, Mr. Carson. Neither of us knew anything of life, or really of each other. Daniel…asked for a divorce before three years were out. I gave it to him willingly. By that time, I knew it was not meant to be." She studied the table for a moment. "I go by Mrs. Hughes because in my professional life I've found it brings a certain dignity to my position. It's strictly professional, nothing more."

"What happened to him?" he blurted out. She blinked rapidly, betraying nothing.

"He moved away, got remarried. He died quite suddenly four years ago," she explained.

"I'm sorry," he said automatically. He didn't know what else to say.

She traced a line on the table with her finger. "I was not in contact with him when he died. Still, it is always sad when someone young passes away." There was a faint hint of sadness in her voice. "I suppose…I feel I did not give it the chance I should have. My parents were happily married for thirty years. To them, marriage was a sacred thing. I never intended to treat it lightly." She shook her head. "We all have chapters we intend to remain unpublished."

"Quite so," he said softly before clearing his throat. He rose from his chair and she did likewise. They shook hands. Her hand was soft, but strong. "I will be in contact with you once we make our decision."

"Thank you, Mr. Carson." He escorted her out to the lobby and opened the door for her to the hall.

She berated herself for half an hour in the car. At home, she cracked open a Guinness and wondered why she had been so open with him. She hardly ever spoke of Daniel Hughes to anyone. Why to the managing partner Charles Carson? And why would he care if she'd been a waitress, or painted fences? _She hated carrying the large trays full of glasses. Constant groping around the tables, it was a wonder she didn't trip. One of the men's girlfriends, after a particularly raucous dinner, slipped her the number of her father. Their entire neighborhood needed a touch-up of their fences._

She never wanted pity.

He wondered how she'd somehow got the juggling story out of him. Not even Robert knew he had worked for a circus. Or about the fraternity. An old wound, long since buried, threatened to work itself to the surface. That evening, he opened a bottle of Cabernet. _Rich boys boozing it up, me left to clean up the mess, whether it was someone's vomit under the table or a crying girl with disheveled clothes to escort out. Those same bastards chucking bottles at me, thinking it was funny when I dropped a knife._

All he wanted was respect.

It took very little persuasion for Robert to agree to extend an offer. She did not take long to give an answer. By the beginning of March, Elsie Hughes was the office manager at Carson & Crawley.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: They're back in the office, complete silliness ensues. Tee hee. I'm so fourteen years old today, I can't stop giggling. Ermahgerd, me love dese goobers.**

 **Happy unofficial last day of summer to my fellow Americans! It's 91 degrees Fahrenheit and HUUUMID in the Midwest. For everyone else, I'm sorry today was a regular Monday.**

Anna's phone buzzed as she was walking into the building at 7:42 am. She grinned at the picture of Poppy in her Elsa costume, sitting at the kitchen table. _Daddy made pancakes for breakfast!_

She shifted her purse to reach for the key to the front door. The lobby lights were off, but a gleam from the file room meant someone was already there. Thomas or Andy, she guessed.

"Good morning, Anna – it is Anna, isn't it? Anna Bates?" She turned around, recognizing the tall figure of Richard Carlisle waiting for the elevator.

"Yes, yes it is," she said. She knew that John had met him at various functions, but it felt strange for him to speak to her. "Good morning," she said awkwardly, not wanting to be rude.

"Is it true, the rumor I heard over the weekend? That Charles Carson and his office manager Elsie Hughes are engaged?"

She could not read his expression at all. "Yes, it is true. They got engaged on Christmas Eve."

"How romantic," he said, sounding the opposite. They both turned when the double doors to the outside opened and Phyllis and Joe came inside, clutching large coffees. "Give them my congratulations, please?"

"Of course," she said. The elevator doors opened and he entered. She fished out the key and opened the front door, letting the others in.

"Thanks," Joe said. "What did Carlisle want?" He set his drink down on the receptionist desk and took his gloves off.

"Wanted to know if the rumor about Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes was true," Anna set her purse down on her chair and turned on the lobby lights. She took the cup from Phyllis with a grateful sigh. "You're a godsend, Phil, I know I shouldn't have caffeine, but I really need some this morning." She took a long sip, eyes closed. "Nectar of the gods, that." Madge wandered down the stairs towards them, saying hello.

"Half-caf, just like you ordered," Phyllis said with a grin. She glanced out at the lobby, a smile playing on her lips as she removed her scarf. "He didn't look too happy, did he? Joe and I were talking about that on our way in."

Joe leaned against the desk as Thomas and Andy came out of the file room. "He tried to ask her out years ago. She turned him down flat," he laughed. "As if she'd go out with him."

"Really?" Andy asked, his mouth dropping open. "Carlisle asked Mrs. Hughes out? Who all has she gone out with?" He looked at Madge, but she shrugged.

"Only Mr. Carson for the past year. Or so I've heard," Thomas said, reaching for Anna's drink. She slapped him on the wrist.

"Get your own! This is _mine_!"

"Oooh, someone's hormones are out of whack. You must be pregnant," He pretended to be hurt, but leaned over and yanked on her braid.

"Children, behave," Phil mock-scolded. The phone rang, an inside call.

"All of you, shut up," Anna picked up the phone, frowning. "Carson, Crawley & Bates."

"We got back at fucking eleven o'clock last night, or I would have called you! Oh my God, you'd better have details," the distinctive tone of Gwen Dawson-Lee rang over the line. Anna laughed.

"Is it Gwen?" Thomas asked. "Ask her if Jimmy's in yet, he was still home when I left-"

"Is that Thomas? What a coincidence, I've got Jimmy sitting in a chair, feet up on _my desk_. And Jane and Ivy just walked in," Gwen explained. "So spill, since I've got an audience." Her voice sounded distant. Anna knew she'd just put her desk phone on speaker.

"I've got an audience here, as well. And yes," she said in an undertone to Thomas, "Jimmy's in Gwen's office right now."

"Let me talk to him," Thomas said, grabbing at the phone. "I was still half-asleep when I left this morning, didn't have enough brain cells to tell my man I loved him-"

"First of all," Anna said, blocking him, "If you want to tell Jimmy you love him, call him from _your_ desk phone, not mine, or better yet, call from your cell. You know how Mr. Carson hates personal calls from the office phones-"

"Ha! As if we all don't hear you telling your man you love him every day-"

"Would both of you shut up about your men and tell us about the proposal!" Gwen yelled.

"Hey, I'm right here!" Jimmy said, sounding offended. Anna could hear giggling in the background from Ivy.

"They went out to dinner on Christmas Eve, then walked by the city park, where that gigantic Christmas tree is," Anna began. Everyone crowded around her desk until her view to the main lobby was totally obscured. The front door clicked shut as Alfred came in.

"What's going on?" he said to Phyllis.

"Anna's telling us about the proposal," Madge whispered, leaning on her elbow.

"Oh yeah, I want to hear about this," he said, a grin breaking over his face. Anna continued.

"She said they weren't talking about anything much. He joked about going ice skating with her-"a titter ran through the group, thinking about Mr. Carson skating-"and she said they'd better not, that she'd fall and break her neck, and then he'd be stuck with her." Anna stopped, smiling at everyone.

"Then what?" chorused several voices on the phone.

"She said he stopped and took her hand. Then he said, and I quote, 'But that's the point. I DO want to be stuck with you'."

A soft _awwwwwwww_ came from over the phone and in the lobby.

"That doesn't sound very romantic," Andy said under his breath. Thomas elbowed him in the side.

"And then he pulled out the ring from his pocket and asked her to marry him. And she said yes, of course she'd marry him," Anna finished.

"That's lovely!" Jane said over the phone.

"Good for them," Alfred said as he and Joe grinned.

"It sounds like him," said Phyllis. "Formal and adorable all at once."

"Are you calling Mr. Carson adorable? Mr. Molesley will be jealous…" Thomas said.

"Who's adorable?" A curious voice with a Scottish accent said behind Alfred.

Everyone turned around so fast Elsie almost laughed, but she caught herself just in time.

"Anna? Are you there?" Gwen asked.

"I have to let you go," Anna said quietly. "I'll call you back later." She hung up as everyone stood around the desk, looking like deer in headlights.

"Well, I hope you all had a pleasant Christmas," Elsie began, taking off her gloves. "I know it's a quiet week, but don't you all have work to do? It's eight o'clock."

Everyone scattered. Thomas and Andy went back into the file room. Joe, Phyllis, Madge and Alfred went upstairs.

"It must be a busy morning," Elsie said, her eyes twinkling in amusement. Anna bit back a smile.

"Yes, very busy," she agreed.

Out of the corner of her eye, Elsie could see Nathan Spratt and Gladys Denker attempting to eavesdrop from the mail room. Across the hall, the door to the file room was open, no doubt with two men waiting with baited breath. She could barely make out the top of Alfred's head as he casually leaned against the upstairs rail, Madge and Joe next to him. _If they want a show, I'll give them one._

"Anna," she began, her voice louder than usual, "I have an appointment at 8:45 today, so my door will be closed."

"An appointment?" Anna asked in confusion, paging through the docket. "8:45? With who?"

"Mr. Carson. I'm planning on making wild, passionate love to him for approximately an hour and a half," Elsie said loudly. There was a loud _thump_ from the mail room as Spratt dropped a box.

"I see," Anna said evenly, as she fought a smile. "Do you have any other appointments today?"

"Yes," the office manager continued, her voice raised. "At 10:30, I have an appointment with the managing partner, in his office. He's going to bang me like a gong until noon-"

A loud ring came from upstairs as Alfred smashed his knee into the metal rail. Behind Anna, Thomas slammed the file room door shut. Elsie lowered her voice.

"I might as well have some fun with the rumor mill. I'm going upstairs."

"See you later," Anna said, choking down the rest of her espresso past her tears of repressed laughter. Even though he was spending a welcome day with their daughter, John would be sorry he missed this.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Elsie dropped her purse onto one of the chairs before turning on her computer. She glanced out the window, where she could clearly see Charles's car, running, in his usual parking space by the front doors. She pulled out her phone.

 _Elsie Hughes to Charles Carson, December 28_ _th_ _, 8:04 am_

 _Don't tell me you're going to sit in your car all day_

 _Charles Carson to Elsie Hughes, 8:04_

 _I'm just boosting my courage_

 _EH to CC, 8:04_

 _Are you waiting for little Charlie to calm down?_

 _EH to CC, 8:04_

 _Sorry, I shouldn't make fun of you_

 _CC to EH, 8:05_

 _What are you wearing?_

 _EH to CC, 8:05_

 _Why do you want to know?_

 _CC to EH, 8:05_

 _If I know what you're wearing, I'll be more prepared. If you're wearing that black skirt, I may as well go home_

 _EH to CC, 8:06_

 _I'm wearing jeans, a white shirt and my lavender cardigan_

 _CC to EH, 8:07_

 _Jeans!? What possessed you to wear jeans to the office?_

 _EH to CC, 8:08_

 _The dress code's casual for the staff this week, business casual for the attorneys. YOU made sure to tell everyone that before Christmas_

 _CC to EH, 8:08_

 _At your suggestion_

 _EH to CC, 8:08_

 _A suggestion which you were wise enough to put into policy_

 _CC to EH, 8:09_

 _I brought you coffee_

 _EH to CC, 8:09_

 _Thank you, darling. Why are you still in the car? It'll get cold._

 _CC to EH, 8:09_

 _I told you, working up my courage_

 _EH to CC, 8:09_

 _Dinner's at my place tonight, I'll work you up. My fingers need a workout…_

 _CC to EH, 8:10_

 _You're not helping_

 _EH to CC, 8:10_

 _Me straddling you while you sit in that oversize chair. Moving sloowly over your groin area. Speaking of oversized…_

 _EH to CC, 8:11_

 _I told the staff you'd be banging me in your office_

 _CC to EH, 8:11_

 _WHAT!?_

 _CC to EH, 8:11_

 _I am speechless_

 _EH to CC, 8:11_

 _I'm sure you won't stay speechless for long_

 _EH to CC, 8:12_

 _Really, love, come inside. Give me my coffee and a nice sweet kiss on the cheek. We can save the banging for later._

 _CC to EH, 8:13_

 _Imagine me kissing you, my lips on your *favorite place*_

 _CC to EH, 8:13_

 _My hands on your perfect breasts_

 _EH to CC, 8:14_

 _Stop. How am I supposed to get any work done?_

 _CC to EH, 8:14_

 _My mouth on yours, tongue inside, me undoing my belt…_

 _EH to CC, 8:14_

 _STOP IT, CHARLES CARSON._

 _CC to EH, 8:15_

 _You started it. You and your banging…_

 _EH to CC, 8:15_

 _It's hot in here_

 _CC to EH, 8:15_

 _Good. Now we're even. I'll be in in a minute._

He strode into the building, deciding to go up the stairs in front of the front desk instead of the stairs from the main lobby.

"Good morning, Anna," he said. Someone peeked from the file room. It looked like Andrew.

He climbed the stairs, saying good morning to anyone he saw. Phyllis stepped out of her office, to the left of his corner one, as he approached.

"Good morning, Mr. Carson," she said, smiling. He stopped for a moment to chat.

"Hello, Phyllis. Did you have a good holiday? How did the skiing go?"

"Yes, it was lovely. Skiing was fun." He raised an eyebrow.

"How did Mr. Molesley do, skiing? It was his first time, wasn't it?"

She nodded. "He did all right. By the end of the weekend, he wasn't falling as much." She clasped her hands together. "If I may, Mr. Carson, congratulations on your engagement. I'm very happy for you."

"Thank you." He smiled warmly. "We haven't made any plans yet."

"I'm sure I'll hear about it when you do." She turned and went back into her office. He walked into the office to the right of his.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hughes." She was sitting, staring at her computer. Her hands were on her keyboard, but they were not moving. She looked decidedly flushed. He put her coffee down on her desk and leaned over. She tilted her head for him to kiss her cheek, but at the last second he moved and slid his mouth over hers. He pulled away slowly, feeling her bottom lip between his teeth.

"G-good morning, Mr. Carson," she said, her voice shaking. Pleased, he marched into his office and turned on his laptop. His phone buzzed.

 _You'll pay for that later, Mr. Carson._

He replied with a huge grin on his face.

 _I look forward to it, Mrs. Hughes._


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thanks so much for all the reviews! I can't reply to some, but appreciate them all the same. I'm putting in a trigger warning for this chapter, simply because of difficult material. I hope I'm not giving all of you emotional whiplash between the happy/funny chapters and the darker ones. If anyone is curious, Downton Abbey cannot be rented. I asked.**

Charles stood fourth in line at the small bakery. He glanced over at Mary, who gave him a small smile and shrug in return. After he finally placed their order and received their food, he made his way over to the table tucked beside the brick wall, underneath the huge chalkboard menu. He set the tray down.

"Thanks for grabbing a table, they're more crowded today than I thought they would be. I didn't think so many people would be working the week between Christmas and the New Year."

"Thank you for lunch," she said, her tone slightly stilted. "I should not have let you pay for mine."

"I'm allowed to spoil you from time to time," he said, folding his hands.

Mary looked as if she didn't believe him, pressing her lips together. "You have someone else on which to lavish your generosity now. I wonder why you bother with me." Charles dipped a piece of bread into his steaming bowl. "What kind of soup is that?"

"Vegan curried potato and leek soup," he said, spooning a mouthful, blowing on it before he tasted it.

"Is it good?"

"Very, I'm surprised you wanted the spinach salad. I thought you'd need something to warm you after the walk." They ate in silence for a few minutes before Charles spoke again.

"It would be easier if you told me what's bothering you."

"Why do I need to?" she asked, immediately hostile, her expression frosty. "You've been in a serious relationship for the better part of a year, with someone who works in our office no less, and you said nothing to me. Of course it bothers me!" She dropped her fork on the table with a clunk. "Why, Carson? Why didn't you tell me?"

"It was not your business," he said as gently as he could. "And when I knew for sure that it _was_ serious, that it was going somewhere, it was around the time Matthew was deployed abroad. I didn't think it was the right time to throw more upheaval into your life."

"Well, you thought wrong. I'm disappointed in you. I thought we were closer than that," she snapped. "And what do you mean, 'when you knew it was serious'? I suppose you mean when you started sleeping with her-"

"That's enough," Charles growled, swallowing his temper with difficulty. "I was thinking of your well-being when I decided not to tell you about Elsie last summer, about us."

"I seriously doubt that," she snorted. "If you cared about me at all, you would have thought twice about chasing a skirt right when I needed someone to rely on!"

"Stop," he whispered in an ominous voice, feeling his temple beginning to throb. "What do you think I am? Do you think that's all this is? Sex?" He pushed aside his empty soup bowl. "Mary. I love you like the daughter I never had. I always will. I want us to get along. But I wish you would stop acting like you need me to lean on when you've been perfectly able to stand on your own two feet. For a good ten years, at least." He sighed. "Please try to understand. Elsie is the center of my life now."

"I see," she said softly. She looked at the brick wall. "I have no place in your life then."

"That's not what I said," he retorted, refusing to take her bait. "You will always be a part of my life. When you married Matthew, it wasn't like I fell off of your radar, was it?" He raised his eyebrows as she continued studying the red brick. "It will be different, I won't pretend otherwise." He sighed, reaching for hand. Thankfully, she let him take it, although she still wasn't looking at him.

"I'm not asking for you to give a fireworks celebration," he said quietly. "But I do hope you can be happy for us. For me. Please."

She blinked, and he caught the glimmer of a tear. She took a shaky breath. Squeezing his hand, she nodded.

"I could never refuse you for long, Carson. You know how difficult change is for me," she said, a bit of humor playing on her lips. "It surprises me that you would adapt to it better than I."

"I've had someone close by helping me change for over twenty years," he said, smiling. "Even if I didn't realize it, she was getting me used to the idea that life is in a constant state of flux."

Mary slipped her hand from his. "Elsie doesn't like me," she said in a small voice.

"Oh, that's not true," he said. They raised their eyebrows at each other. "All right, she may not like you as much as I do, but she doesn't hate you."

"Not many people like me as well as you do."

" _Edith_ doesn't like you as well as I do." She laughed at that.

"True. Although our feelings for each other have reached a kind of neutral zone. It's nothing like it was, even a few years ago."

"People change?" he asked. "What an original idea." She rolled her eyes and shook her head as they got up from the table.

"You're not going to let that go, are you?" He helped her into her coat.

"Probably not. At least, I'll keep it as the ace up my sleeve. Only use it when necessary." He glanced back at the counter. "No one's waiting. If you want something hot to drink on the way back, I suggest we get that now."

"Let me get it, since you bought lunch," she said, striding past him to the counter. Five minutes later, they hurried down the sidewalk back towards the office building.

"I'm glad you suggested something hot to drink, my hand will be the only part of me not frozen by the time we get back," she called, her voice raised over the noise of cars driving down the street. They walked in the crosswalk, he in front, waving at the stopped car. The low clouds overhead made the winter's day darker. The sign on the outside of their building was on, as were the lights in several offices. DOWNTON PLAZA blazed down at them as they approached the double doors. He looked up, saw Elsie sitting at her desk, engrossed in her work. Mary startled him out of his reverie.

"The lady in her tower?" She smiled, her voice soft. "You are a romantic, Carson. Someday you'll have to tell me how all of it began."

"It's a long story," he said, opening the front door. He was not sure he would know where to begin.

Then again, maybe he did.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

 _April 1995_

The back patio at Pedro's was crowded, people enjoying the warmer spring evening. The outdoor bar was so jammed Charles decided to go inside. It was almost empty, save for a small group congregated in one corner, and a couple blissfully engaged in the other. A lone figure sat at the bar. Elsie Hughes.

"Mind if I join you?"

She jumped, startled. "Hello, Mr. Carson. I didn't see you. No, not at all," she fumbled for a Kleenex as he sat down. She dabbed at her eyes. "I didn't know you liked to come for the Friday happy hour," she said, trying to smile.

He shrugged. "Sometimes I do. I've met Dickie Merton here before, and others. I haven't often seen _you_ here." He asked the bartender for a Newcastle and a glass for himself. "Can I get you anything?" Her glass was nearly empty. She sighed.

"I shouldn't, but I guess one more won't hurt." He ordered another Newcastle and tried not to notice her makeup running on her face. She had had her hair chopped short for several months, a style he didn't particularly care for, but he had to admit, she pulled it off better than most women.

"Is Martin coming later?" he asked. He was surprised not to see the affable associate from Jones Day by her side. They had been dating for over three years.

"No," she whispered. He felt his heart clench when tears started leaking down her face. "I-I'm sorry, Mr. Carson," she stuttered as she looked away, wiping her face. "I don't want to disturb you-"

"Don't worry about it, I've seen worse," he said firmly. He waited as she calmed herself. He took her glass and slowly poured her beer into it, making sure to limit the foam. He then poured his own.

"What happened?" he asked as gently as he could. She let out a shuddering breath.

"We broke up," she said, her voice stronger. "I should have seen it coming. That's not to say we didn't-I mean, we did care for each other. But it wasn't enough."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said, surprised that he meant it. "Martin Dye is a nice chap, he treated you well. You both seemed happy. I thought it was getting serious, to be honest." He took a drink.

"So did I," she bit her lip. She held her glass between her hands. "But I couldn't give him what he wanted."

He frowned, his eyebrows moving together. "Whatever do you mean by that? I'm sorry, I shouldn't pry," he took another drink, just for something to do.

She looked at him directly for the first time, dropped her head. "I'm sorry, I've already said too much." She took a long drink. "You're my boss, and we're friends, but I don't think you need, or want, to hear everything about my life."

He still asked. "Was it Becky?" he asked. "Was she too much for him to handle?"

"No, Martin was very fond of my sister," she said. "He was always very sweet with her. Shit," she cursed under her breath, and he flinched. She rarely used foul language, unless Miss O'Brien had given her a rough day. "I'm going to have to explain to her why she won't see him anymore. She won't understand." She sucked in a breath. "Stupid, stupid!" she burst out, resting her face on her hands. "This is why I try not to introduce anyone I'm seeing to Becky. If it doesn't work out, then she's confused."

Her sister wasn't the only one. "If he didn't have a problem with Becky, then I don't understand."

"Never mind," she said. It was as if an invisible wall were going up between them. "It's…women's stuff. I'm sure you don't want to be bothered with it."

"If you're bothered, then I'm bothered," he prodded. _It would take a lot to make you upset._

She drank again, her glass half-empty. "I could have handled it, if he had said it wasn't working out," she whispered. "If he was cheating on me, it would have been easier. But he told me he wanted children."

He sat up on the barstool. "Isn't that a good thing? That's a sign he's serious about you."

"Not serious about me. He knows…I'm infertile. I won't ever have children," she said baldly, shaking her head. There were no tears in her eyes, only a shimmering pain that he could feel from several feet away.

He felt all of the air go out of his body. He slumped against the bar. "Oh, God. Mrs. Hughes, I am…so sorry."

"Don't be," she said shortly. He could see her jaw clenched. "I've known for a few years, I'm used to it. I try not to dwell on things I can't change." She took another sip of her beer. "I'm just not used to someone making me feel broken." Her voice cracked.

"You are not broken!" he said, the words coming out louder than he intended. The next time he saw Martin, he would strangle him. "Don't ever say that again!"

She choked back a sob and managed to give him a watery smile. "Thank you for that," she said, her voice ran her finger on the top of her glass. She sighed and cleared her throat, changing the subject. "Why don't _you_ get married, Mr. Carson? Have children? I know how much you dote on Mary. And you're fond of Edith and Sybil. You would be a good father."

He shrugged. "It's unlikely it will happen."

"Why not? Surely there's someone who's caught your fancy," she teased lightly. She knew very well about Caroline Anstruther, the attorney from the Merton Law Firm, who wouldn't take no for an answer. He smiled, more at her regaining her sense of humor.

"There was, once. A long time ago," he said softly. "I'm not exaggerating when I say she broke my heart." She raised an eyebrow.

"Oh dear. Who was she?"

He gave her look. "I've never told anyone about her. Not even Robert."

"I've told you something no one else knows," she said gently. "Not even Beryl. Sometimes when you have an open wound…it's better to tell someone. Let it heal."

"Does it really help? To talk about it?" he asked. He hoped he hadn't been too forward with her earlier.

She tapped her finger on the bar. "I think it does help. I have to say, it does feel like a little of the weight of the world is off of my back." She blushed, looking down. "I'm sorry I embarrassed you by talking about personal things. I know you don't like that at work."

"We're not at work now," he reminded her, shrugging it off. "And we're friends. What are friends for, if not to listen?"

"True. And friends remind each other that they're not broken," she said, tucking a short strand of hair over her ear. "So will you tell me about this wicked creature who broke your heart?"

He took a deep breath. He had tried not to think about her for years. "Her name was Alice, Alice Neal. We met at the university." He looked at Elsie, who nodded in encouragement.

"We were inseparable for the last two years. She knew I wanted to go to law school, and encouraged me every step of the way." He shook his head, thinking about his younger self. "I didn't sleep much during my last year. I knew I needed to do well on the entrance tests, finish well before graduating. I needed a scholarship," he explained. "Both of my parents were gone by then, I had no one to rely on but myself.

"The last semester was a blur. I had been accepted to law school, won my scholarship, and the world seemed to be my oyster. Alice was going through auditions. She was a dancer," he said at Elsie's unspoken question. "She seemed remote, but I thought it was just the stress of everything. Until the very last day of final exams. I went back to my room to sleep, and she was there with my roommate, Charlie Grigg. In bed." He stopped, fighting a sudden lump in his throat. "I had bought a ring…"

"Mr. Carson, I am so sorry," Elsie gasped, her eyes wide in horror. "How terrible. You wanted to marry her," she said. She reached over and touched his arm.

"So badly…I could taste it," he whispered. He felt tears coming and looked away. Why did thinking of the moment still hurt, even after all this time?

"What happened to her?" she asked in a low voice, her eyes dark with anger. He swallowed hard, controlling himself.

"She and Grigg left together after graduation and got married soon after," he said. "I heard through mutual friends that they divorced after only a few years. She died a year and a half ago," he said quietly. "Cancer."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. There didn't seem to be anything else to say.

"Don't be," he repeated her words. "I did go to her funeral. Grigg was there, and we reconciled. He told me that Alice had said that she'd married the wrong man. Whether or not that was true, it was nice to hear. I think he was telling the truth," the corner of his lip turned up, "for once."

"I am glad you were able to say goodbye," she said. There was a quiet pause. She shook her head, gave a little laugh. "What an optimistic conversation this has been! I'm sure you're sorry you came in here and saw me."

"Not a bit," he said. "In fact, I do feel better. Something about the weight of the world…" he looked at the ceiling, his fingers around his chin in mock-serious thought.

"I'm sure the drinks had something to do with it as well," she laughed again, indicating their nearly empty glasses. He raised his, clearing his throat.

"Maybe. Let's have a toast."

"To what?" she asked, raising her glass. "To drowning our sorrows?"

He mulled it over for a moment. "To friends. To those who listen when we're sad, and who help heal us when we feel broken."

Her eyes softened, and she clinked his glass against hers. "I can drink to that. To friends." They both drank. She licked her lips, the last of the beer gone. "I think we should do this more often."

"Do what? Confess our darkest secrets?" he asked.

"No," her eyes twinkled, "Have a drink, talk about life. NOT work."

"Hmmmm. How about next Friday, same time, same place?"

"I'll be here."

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

It wasn't love all at once. She respected him very much. She could trust him to keep their conversations private. He appreciated having her ear, someone to unwind with. He trusted her judgment over anyone else.

Over the next twenty years, they met every Friday at Pedro's. Sometimes it was only for ten minutes in a packed bar, other times they lingered for an hour. Even when they had other commitments, they made the Friday drink a priority. He would quiz her on her latest date, and she would scold him for working too hard. They laughed or groaned over TV shows, music, movies. He tried to explain the rules of cricket. She tried to explain the wonders of modern technology. They argued about how men and women were different (or the same), fought over religion and politics, and solved the problems of the world.

Sometimes others would join them. Beryl was always good for a laugh, Robert talked too much but was very witty after a couple of drinks. When John Bates added his name to the firm, they celebrated together. They laughed over Mary and Matthew's wedding and cried remembering Sybil's funeral. They raised a silent prayer for William when he was deployed and gave him a silent toast after he was killed in Afghanistan.

Most of the time, it was just the two of them, talking about everything and nothing. In two decades, there were less than ten times they failed to meet on a Friday, barring a holiday.

They drank everything at the bar, including soda and water, after his heart surgery.

They never drank sherry. Pedro's didn't have any.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Oh my gosh, you all are awesome. The feedback is incredible. To those reviewers that I cannot reply to, I do intend to fill in the gaps of their relationship. Someone asked about a "January" chapter, when they began their relationship. That part is coming. For this chapter, we are back to the main timeline.**

"Why am I so tired? It's barely eight o'clock," yawned Elsie as the sink filled with water. "I'm glad the office closes at one tomorrow, I might sleep all afternoon. Thank God it's a short week."

"It's the after-Christmas hangover," Charles said. He opened the dishwasher. "I've been fairly tired myself. Although," he smirked, "perhaps if we had done more sleeping over the weekend, we wouldn't be so tired now." Elsie slapped him on the behind with her towel. He laughed, grabbing its other end. "Don't play innocent with me, Elsie Hughes!" He pulled her towards him.

"No," she protested, feebly pulling back. He yanked the towel out of her hand, tossing it on the counter before kissing her, his hands caressing the sides of her face. She slipped her arms around his back, feeling the warmth of his body through her shirt. His soft lips worshipped her mouth until the sound of water dripping on the floor broke them apart.

"Damn!" Elsie cried, shutting the water off. "Charles Carson, this is your fault! Now it's run over." She rolled up her sleeve and plunged her arm into the overfull sink. She pulled out the drain in the bottom as he knelt on the floor with the towel.

"Love, can you move? You're standing in the worst of it," he said as he tossed the sopping towel in the direction of the laundry room. She moved aside, handing him a wad of paper towels. After he dried the floor, she went to work scrubbing the pots. He filled the dishwasher and reset it before sitting down at the kitchen table. "You're not really angry are you?" he asked. He relaxed when she laughed, placing the last pot on the drying mat.

"Of course not, you old booby," she said, ruffling his hair. "But it does irk me sometimes that I lose all sense of reality when you kiss me."

"I need to get in as much as possible today," he said as she sat down. "I'll have to behave myself tomorrow night, or Bill will throw me into the freezing pond."

"More likely Beryl would do that." Elsie glanced at the living room wall. The boxes were stacked in tidy rows. "I know I should start unpacking or unsorting, or both, but I don't have the will right now."

"Don't start tonight. You would not get as far as you like, and then you'd want to clean up the mess tomorrow," Charles said reasonably. "Wait until Saturday, then you can start properly. And I can help you, if you like. Or I can go over to the condo and bring more things over."

"You know me well." She patted his hand, stifling another yawn. "That's a much better idea."

He turned her hand over, tracing her fingers with his own. "Are you sure you're all right with moving in here?" he asked. He worried that it would make her feel claustrophobic, never having time to herself.

"Yes," she said. She curled her fingers around his. "Have you forgotten it was my idea in the first place? You have more room for storage here. I'm the one invading _your_ space."

"It's a welcome invasion," he grinned, kissing her hand. "It's only temporary anyway. I'm looking forward to looking for a house together."

"Let me get the condo sold first," she reminded him. "I called Jean and gave her a warning that I wanted it listed by the middle of the month. She said that there shouldn't be a problem selling, that she's had a few people ask about it."

"Do you think we should wait? For the wedding, I mean? It's a lot we're planning in a short period of time," he fretted. They had settled on a date in late April. Elsie did not want to wait much longer, due to the newest Bates being scheduled to arrive at the end of May. Charles worried that the end of Matthew's deployment in June would be a tricky transition at the firm, for staff reasons.

In reality, neither of them wanted to wait until the summer, much less the fall.

"I'm not waiting any more, Charlie," she said, a gleam in her eye. "I know you don't want to wait anymore, either. We will get through these next few months, and then we will be married. For the rest of our lives." She squeezed his hand. His heart swelled.

"I can't tell you how much it means to me that you want to take my name," he whispered. "You are so strong, and for you to give up your identity as Mrs. Hughes, it-it means everything."

"I am not losing my identity," she said quietly. "You know my last name hasn't meant that much to me. I will still be Elsie. Your Elsie." She rubbed her thumb over his hand. "To the staff and most of our friends, I've been Mrs. Carson for a long time."

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The bonfire blazed under the night sky. Elsie wrapped the flannel blanket tighter around her, enjoying the heat. Tom Branson sat next to her on the hay bale.

"It's very becoming," he said, sipping his hot cider.

"The blanket? Perhaps I should wear it as a wedding dress. That would be original," she laughed.

"Not the blanket," he smiled. "You in love. You're absolutely glowing, and it's not because of the fire."

"Thank you, Tom," she blushed. She looked across the fire where Charles and Bill were chatting with Phyllis and Joe. Her future husband sensed her gaze and turned to smile at her before going back to his conversation.

"Elsie? Cider, or Gluhwein?" Beryl walked from the house, holding two cups. "Daisy said that she'd drink whichever one you didn't want."

"I'll have the wine, please," she said, taking it from her friend. Beryl handed the other cup to Daisy, who was sitting with Ivy, before settling down beside her friend.

"Whispering back and forth, those two," she grumbled. "As if I didn't know what they were talking about!" She gestured to the group of young men clustered, laughing, with beers in their hands. "That Andy," she sighed. "Bill's talked to him, says he doesn't mind at all if the lad asks Daisy out, but he hasn't yet. The poor girl's wondering what to do."

"They'll figure it out," Tom said. "After all, Mr. Carson eventually came around." He winked at Elsie. "I don't think it will take Andy that long to ask Daisy on a date."

"Let's hope not," huffed Beryl. She turned to Tom. "I checked on Sybbie, she's sleeping soundly. Didn't make a sound when I popped my head in the guest room."

"Thanks for looking in. And for letting us stay the night."

"It's nothing, Bill and I love company, especially people we like," she grinned. "Not like this woman here," she nudged Elsie playfully. "Doesn't she look beautiful, Tom?"

"She does indeed. I was telling her when you came over, how love seems to agree with her."

"Stop it, both of you," Elsie cried. "All right, I'm happy, but surely there isn't _that_ much of a difference than before?"

"You really can't tell, can you?" Beryl exchanged an amused glance with Tom, rolling her eyes. "Well, trust us. I don't know how Charlie's going to make it through his wedding day without spontaneously combusting into dust." Tom laughed and excused himself, getting up to go talk to Alfred, Jimmy, Thomas and Andy. His seat had not been vacated for long before Charles came over and sat next to Elsie.

"How are you enjoying the bonfire?" Beryl asked. "This must be the first time you're not with Robert, Cora and the attorney set at Dickie Merton's cocktail gala. It's a bit of a culture shock, I would think."

"Not that much," Charles said, putting an arm around Elsie. She leaned against him. "Honestly, the gala is a bit formal, even for me."

"That's saying a lot," Elsie muttered. She was relieved when he had said he'd rather go to the Masons' bonfire for New Years' Eve.

"It's all attorney ego, and gossip, and pretending to be more successful than you really are," Charles continued. The women looked at him in amazement. He raised his eyebrows. "What? It's true."

"I'm surprised you went for so many years," Elsie said. "You could have come here for New Year's."

"We've invited him ever since we've been married," said Beryl, glaring at Charles. "But you always refused, saying the staff wouldn't have any fun if you showed up. Maybe that was true ten years ago, but you've changed."

"I've been coming here on New Year's Day for the past few years," Charles protested. "It would not have made sense to be here for New Years' Eve _and_ the first of January."

"I'm glad we're here tonight," Elsie said, removing the blanket from her shoulders. "And you aren't the only attorney skipping the gala. Alfred, Jimmy and Tom are here, too."

"John went to the gala, but he's already home," Charles said, checking his phone. "He was probably happy to have a pregnant wife at home as an excuse to leave early."

They all looked up when Bill called for their attention close to midnight. Everyone got in a circle around the bonfire, singing "Auld Lang Syne", and holding hands. Elsie noticed Andy and Daisy standing next to each other. She smiled to herself. Clever girl.

Charles exchanged a smile with Beryl on his other side. "I keep thinking about last New Year's, how different things were."

"I remember," she whispered. "Now aren't you glad you took my advice?"


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I was going to go into January 2015, and how their friendship turned to romance, but like Alan Rickman as Colonel Brandon in Sense & Sensibility says, "…No. I must go further back." Flashbacks will continue for the foreseeable future. I don't own it, but I suspect Downton owns me.**

 _March 2010_

"You're a million miles away," he commented. He wondered if she'd heard anything he'd said in the last five minutes. Then again, Pedro's was jammed for the start of March Madness. William brushed by them as they sat at the bar.

"Have a good weekend, Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes," he said, holding four bottles of beer in his hand as he went to join his group. Charles hardly noticed. He touched her arm softly.

"Are you all right?" She turned, smiled at him.

"I'm fine, Mr. Carson," she said over the loud voices around them. "It's been a long week, that's all." She finished her white wine spritzer and stepped off of the barstool. "I'm sorry, but I'm getting a headache in here. I'd better go home. Have a nice weekend."

He said goodbye, sure she hadn't heard him in the din. He sat at the bar for another half an hour. The basketball games were a mindless blur. The crowd around roared and groaned, but he paid little attention. He wondered if something was bothering her. But if so, why not tell him? They told each other everything.

 _Everything?_

 _She does not know you heard her the day you had surgery. When she told you she wasn't leaving you, and you found a reason to live again._

He had dreamed of that moment, thought about it, damn well obsessed over it at times for the last three years. Sometimes he thought he had dreamt it, that he did not remember anything clearly from that day. Surely it was his imagination.

Sometimes he thought the way she spoke to him bordered on something more, but he told himself it was nothing unusual. He had a reputation to maintain, and he certainly did not want to risk hers. He was professional, courteous, and as dignified as ever. They had patched up their friendship, after that horrid time when he thought she'd go to Haxby. The last thing he wanted to do was disturb the peace.

The following week began as normal. The office busy, attorneys and staff pretending to work when he knew very well half of them were streaming games online. In the past, he would have cracked down, but regardless of what others thought, he had softened over the years. It was late in the afternoon on Wednesday when he walked to the kitchen from his office that he saw Mrs. Hughes and the new Mrs. Mason (formerly Patmore) emerging from Beryl's office. The records clerks supervisor had her arm around the office manager, and was trying to comfort her.

Mrs. Hughes was crying. The last time he had seen her cry was at Sybil's funeral.

He went into the storage room to avoid running into them. His mind raced. What on earth was going on? He wanted to ask her later, but she avoided him. She politely declined to join him at Pedro's the next Friday, saying she was going to visit Becky. By this point, every alarm in his brain was going off.

She came into his office on the following Monday, and said she would not be at work the next day. She had an appointment.

"May I ask what this appointment is for?" he asked, folding his hands on his desk, his heart beating terribly.

"You may ask, but I do not have to answer," she said steadily. He said nothing for a moment, studying her. She was calm. She rarely lost her temper or her composure, so that was not unusual. But her face was white, devoid of color. There were shadows under her eyes. She held her hands at her sides, her thumbnails digging into her palms.

She was afraid. She was never afraid.

"I hope it goes well." He wanted so badly to make her tell him what was wrong. But he could not force her. _Why don't you let me help you? You don't always have to be strong._

"Thank you, Mr. Carson," she murmured. Before she left the room, he stood up.

"I want you to know that I'm on your side," he said. She looked back at him with an expression like when they'd toasted to friendship, fifteen years before.

"Thank you for that." She hurried out, but not before he saw the tears coming again. That did it.

At 4:30, he marched down to Beryl's office, knocked, entered, and closed the door behind him. She barely looked up from her computer.

"This had better be important. I'm busy. Even for you."

"What's wrong with Mrs. Hughes?" he blurted out. She took off her glasses, tapped them on her desk.

"Nothing to worry you about," she said finally. He leaned forward over her desk.

"I know _something_ is wrong with her. She has an appointment tomorrow. What is it?" She pursed her lips together.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Carson, but if she has not told you, then by law, I cannot. I assume you remember HIPAA?"

He wanted to scream. The health law forbade medical institutions, doctors and professionals from sharing private information about their clients. If Mrs. Hughes did not tell him herself what was going on, under the law, he had no right to know. After all, he was not family.

But Mrs. Patmore-Mrs. Mason, he corrected himself, _had_ told him something. Unintentionally.

"She's not well," he said, sinking into a chair. Beryl said nothing, staring at her screen. "She's ill." Every medical ailment known to him streamed through his brain. Her heart. No, she ate a healthy diet and was in good shape. _Don't think about her shape right now._ Tendonitis? No. That might require physical therapy or in a worst case scenario surgery, but she would not weep over it. Her lungs? She'd quit smoking over ten years ago.

"She's not ill," Beryl said. "At least, she doesn't know yet. The biopsy is tomorrow, the cyst in her breast might be benign." Her face crumpled in worry.

Cyst? Benign? "So it might be malignant?" he whispered, his heart plunging into the floor. His hands shook. _God, no. NO. Please spare her. I'll do anything…_

"Malignant? Who said anything about cancer?" she asked loudly, scowling at him. The word hit him like a ton of bricks.

"You did, Mrs. Mason," he said softly. Her face turned white, then red. She covered her face with her hands.

"Don't tell her I told you," she said, her voice muffled. She sucked in a breath and put her glasses back on. "She did not want you to be told."

"Why?"

"She has her reasons." Beryl looked as though she did not agree with them, whatever they were.

"When will she get the results?" _Please don't let her have to wait too long._

"They'll tell her when she should expect the results after the biopsy." She looked at him with pity. "I'll tell you when I know anything, Mr. Carson. But don't tell her you know, or that I told you."

"Of course not," he said. He walked back to his office in a daze.

When Mrs. Hughes returned to the office two days later, he took it upon himself to watch her. She was the same as ever, if a bit preoccupied. He caught her on the stairs carrying a box.

"You shouldn't do that," he said, reaching for it. She sidestepped his reach.

"Why ever not? It's my job," she said briskly, continuing up the stairs. "I was downstairs already, Alfred called and needed more binders for his trial prep."

"Why didn't you have one of the clerks bring it up?" he blustered. "There's no reason for you to tire yourself out-"

She stopped, glaring at him with such intense ferocity he felt himself wilting on the spot. For once, she was taller, standing a few steps above him. "Who have you been speaking to?"

"No one," he said, defensive. He started to sweat.

"Good," she snapped. He watched her walk the rest of the way up. He then went downstairs into the file room and chewed out the staff for not helping her. By the end of his tirade, Molesley, Denker and Spratt were ashen and Mr. Barrow was certain they would all be fired.

Beryl emailed that it would be a wait for up to ten days before Elsie would know. If it was malignant, the doctor would call and have her come in for an appointment. If it was benign, the phone call would suffice.

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The last thing she wanted was to tell him. He would overreact, and worry. She did not want to give him that burden.

"I don't want him to see me as a sick woman," she said to Beryl the day she was told there was a cyst, and that she would need a biopsy. "Or a dying one, if it comes to that." She bit back a sob, but the tears kept falling.

"You will have to tell him if-" Beryl swallowed. She took Elsie's hands in her own. They were as cold as ice. "He'll have to be told."

"Until then, don't say anything. To anyone. I mean it."

Her friend promised, even though Elsie could tell she disapproved of her silence. No one else at the office said anything to her. She tried to act the same, especially around Mr. Carson, but she knew he was suspicious. She regretted not going to Pedro's the Friday before her biopsy. It would have been nice to have one last drink together before everything fell apart. But she could not face him. She knew he would ask after her, and she was afraid she would not be able to resist telling him.

She had to stay strong, for his sake.

The day after her biopsy he confronted her on the stairs. At first, she was livid. After giving the binders to Alfred, she went straight to Beryl's office and demanded an explanation.

"You must have said _something_. You said he asked after me!"

"Of course he asked after you, he's a good man." Beryl squirmed in her seat. "He's not totally daft, you know. He could have guessed something was up."

Elsie snorted, leaning back in the chair. "He's a hopeless liar, whatever he's thinking. The man went dead white when he said he hadn't spoken to anyone."

"That's quite nice, isn't it?" Beryl asked. "Especially for an attorney. Most of them are liars or bend the truth, one way or the other."

"I hope Mr. Carson never has to testify at a trial," Elsie said. "He'd crumble after the first question in the cross-examination."

The rest of the week was a blur. Again, she skipped the weekly drink at Pedro's, making it the first time they had skipped it two weeks straight. She was sitting at her desk the following Monday when the phone rang. It was an outside call.

"This is Elsie Hughes, at Carson, Crawley & Bates."

"Elsie? This is Dr. Sherman." Time slowed to a stop. She kept her eyes on her keyboard, the letters and numbers blurring.

"Yes?"

"I'm happy to tell you that the results of your biopsy came back negative."

She put her hand over her mouth. A gasping breath escaped anyway. She struggled to control herself and looked out the window. For the first time, she noticed the pear trees blooming outside, their blossoms white.

"Is there anything else I need to do?" she asked shakily. Coherent thoughts were impossible, except for one. _I do not have cancer. I am going to live._ _ **I am going to live.** Thank you, God._

"Not at this time. We'll schedule a check-up in six months. If you notice any other lumps, of course, please call us right away."

"Of course. Thank you, doctor. Thank you," she whispered.

"You're welcome. Have a good day, Elsie."

She called Beryl, who arrived at her office so fast she might as well have been listening outside the door. They both cried, hugging each other.

"Thank God," Beryl wiped her red face, her eyes still streaming. "I knew you'd be all right, though."

"Oh, did you?" Elsie laughed through her own tears. "Well, I'm glad someone did." _I am going to live._ She almost felt giddy. The last time she had felt such incredible relief was when she knew Mr. Carson would be all right after his surgery. "Mr. Carson would want to know."

"Do you want me to tell him now?" Beryl asked. "He's been terribly worried about you, Thomas said he almost tore the heads off the staff last week, told them not to let you overwork yourself."

Elsie felt a rush of affection for him. _I hope he wasn't too harsh with them. He probably was._ "Go and tell him, if you don't mind."

"Put him out of his misery, more like." Beryl left. Elsie opened her office door, relishing the sight of everyone in their everyday routine. For a Monday, it was suddenly a wonderful day. She sat back down at her desk and concentrated on her work. It was a lot easier than ten minutes before. _I am going to live._

She was pondering a complicated email from Cora regarding destroyed files when her attention was caught by a strange sound. She got up and went to the doorway of Mr. Carson's office. He was not seated at his desk; rather, he was looking out the window, his back to her. He sang under his breath.

" _I see trees of green, red roses too._

 _I see them bloom for me and you._

 _And I think to myself_

 _What a wonderful world…"_

Well. That answered a question in the depths of her heart. He must care something for her. She had never heard him sing before, not at the Christmas party or any other gathering. _Oh, I'm glad you are relieved as I am._

He hummed as he swayed slowly back and forth, lost in his song, a smile playing on his lips.

" _I see friends shaking hands, saying how do you do_

 _They're really saying I love you…"_

She crept back to her office, her heart full. She had realized her own feelings several years ago.

Now she knew he felt the same. The hard part would be getting him to say it to her face.

She could be patient, no matter how hard it was, because now she knew.

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It didn't seem enough to simply go on as before. Surely there was something more he could do to show he cared. He got the idea after overhearing Miss Baxter talking on the phone to one of her friends. After a quick Internet search, he made his decision. Carson, Crawley & Bates had been known for their charity work. The firm always sponsored a family in need around Christmas, and participated in various community projects throughout the year.

This would be the first year the firm would sponsor a team in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure. It seemed everyone knew someone affected by breast cancer. William and Thomas's mothers, Miss Baxter's university roommate, Tom Branson's aunt. One of Anna's favorite teachers had succumbed the year before.

On a Saturday morning that June, Charles got dressed at home before heading into the city for the race. He knew most of the staff did not expect him to come, thinking his financial contribution would be sufficient. Also, he knew the talk in the office was that he would not come because of the dress code. None of them had ever seen him wear anything more casual than a pair of khakis and a collared shirt. And that had been while playing golf.

He wore a suit, but left his jacket in the car.

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The hired photographer took all sorts of pictures; mostly candids, but a few posed shots. Elsie's favorite was the one of Tom, William, Alfred, Matthew, Jimmy and Thomas proudly wearing their t-shirts inscribed with the pink slogan: "SAVE THE TATAS". Anna brought her some lemonade, which she was enjoying when Mr. Carson arrived.

He greeted Robert, who slapped him on the back.

"You're about to walk for miles outside, in the summer heat, and you wear a suit? Only you, Carson!"

A dazzling smile spread across Elsie's face at the sight of him as he talked to Robert. He wore sneakers, but that was his only concession to the elements. Grey striped pants and a white dress shirt, cuffs rolled up to his elbows. A solid color pink tie.

She never saw the photographer take her picture.

 **If you ever have the opportunity to participate in a Race for the Cure, do it. This disease affects too many people.**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: A series of flashbacks. I hope no one minds. I still own nothing.**

 _January 2012_

"Miss Baxter?" Elsie approached the secretary's desk. The younger woman looked up. It was just after noon. "Has Mr. Carson not yet left for the conference?"

"He left shortly after nine this morning, so that he could get there by noon," Phyllis said, confused. "At least, he told me he was leaving then. Why?"

Elsie closed her eyes. "He left his overcoat here." Miss Baxter's mouth fell open into a perfect O.

"Oh, _no_. It's freezing! And the weather report called for snow!"

"I'm sorry, but you'll have to take it to him. He has to have it, he won't be back until Friday night. I'll have you fill out an expense report when you get back," Elsie said, sighing. It seemed a shame Phyllis would have to waste a six-hour round trip drive just because the managing partner forgot his coat.

Phyllis blushed. "I would take his coat to him if I could, but I can't. My car is in the shop today, I'm getting a new timing belt."

"For heaven's sake," cried Elsie. "And we have no courier today, no one to spare!" Phyllis's face was crimson.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Hughes-"

"It's not your fault, Miss Baxter," she said, waving her hand. "If there is fault with anyone, it's Mr. Carson." _Daft man._ " _I_ will take him his coat."

A whole afternoon wasted. And yet, as Elsie drove, she found she didn't mind. She was glad of the time alone in the car. At home the feelings felt alien; at work, they were unimaginable. In this space in between, going from one place to the other, she could think about what she felt without guilt.

Her face grew warm as she glanced in the rearview mirror. His coat swayed against the backseat door. _His_ coat _._ Shaking her head, she clutched the steering wheel tighter. The butterflies in her stomach made her feel like a girl again. But she knew she had never loved anyone like she loved him. Even though he had yet to acknowledge his own feelings.

 _Have_ _ **you**_ _? Why would he say anything to you, when you've said nothing to him?_

She was trying, subtly, to show him how she felt. On the surface, it would not seem as though anything had changed between them. This was deliberate. She knew he would be mortified if rumors began circulating at the office. Truth be told, she did not want gossip circulating about her, either. She'd caught Beryl giving her a knowing smirk more than once. It made her nervous.

Stopping at a gas station, she couldn't resist the temptation. She opened the side door and pressed her nose against the inside of his collar. His scent stayed in her nostrils for the rest of the trip.

She parked the car at the hotel where the conference was being held. Robert had attended it in previous years, but Mr. Carson had decided to go this year. At the front desk, she was told that the attorneys were in a session, but would finish in a half hour, before going to a pre-dinner cocktail hour. _Attorneys and their alcohol._ She was glad for once that he had had surgery, and curtailed his consumption accordingly. She waited in the lobby, his coat slung over her arm. She sighed against the wall. It felt good to stand up after so much time in the car.

He exited the large ballroom with two new acquaintances. The crowd of men in dark suits and women in business attire flowed into the lobby, heading for the front doors. He was astonished to see Elsie Hughes next to the reception desk.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, unaware that his movements were being watched with interest. She raised her eyebrows, holding up his coat.

"You left your coat at the office."

"You didn't have to bring it," he protested. "Driving all this way, just for that? I won't need it. We barely go outside!"

"Hush," she said, piercing him with that glare. "It's snowing now. Don't be daft." She shook her head. "We can't have you coming down with something." She held open his coat, and he obediently let her slip it on. He pulled his collar tight around his neck while she brushed imaginary lint off of his broad shoulders and his sleeves. He turned around and buttoned the long coat.

"Thank you." His eyes softened. "I am sorry you lost the whole afternoon because of me."

"Don't worry," she said, twisting her fingers together. "I'll feel better knowing you won't catch cold. Will you be back on Friday?"

"Yes," his lips curving into a smile, "I will make sure I'm back by 5:00. I have an appointment Friday evening that I am loathe to miss." As he said it, he realized he meant it. He hated social functions, and avoided most of them like the plague.

But she was different.

She blushed, looking down, and he almost forgot himself. It would have been nothing to lean over and kiss her. Instead, he put his hands in his pockets.

"I'll see you on Friday then, Mr. Carson," she murmured. At the sound of her voice pronouncing his name, he felt a stirring low, in a place he had not felt for years. She picked up her purse and strode across the lobby, her black skirt swaying, her pumps clacking on the hard floor. Charles stood staring after her a moment, the room gone unnaturally quiet. A crowd of no less than twenty people watched her exit, including the two men he'd been speaking with minutes before. Several men stood with their mouths gaping open.

"Well," the silver-haired gentleman, Mr. Shultz, laughed under his breath. "It's no wonder you normally don't attend the conference, Charles. No one could blame you for staying home. Your wife is beautiful, a real stunner, if I may say so. You're a very lucky man."

A million thoughts raced through his mind. _They think she's my wife. I need to correct them. Bloody hell, none of them have a right to look at her like that!_ _ **You don't either**_ _. Then why can't I stop thinking about the way her voice sounds? Or the way her hips sway when she walks? Does she do that on purpose? Or the way she smiles at me…_

"Thank you," he heard himself say as they walked out to the street. "She is a beautiful woman." He made a mental note to insist Robert attend the conference again next year. It would not do for anyone to find out her mistaken identity. As the cold air outside and tiny flakes of snow swirled around them, he thought he caught a whiff of her scent.

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 _August 2013_

He walked into her office without knocking and closed the door. She looked up with a start, holding her hand over her chest.

"You startled me! What's wrong?"

"Alfred," he said, leaning on her desk, "and Ivy. At least when John and Anna got together, they didn't let their private affairs affect their jobs. Alfred is a good lad, a solid worker, but he's losing his head because his _girlfriend_ works in the same office!"

Elsie sighed. "I'll call Beryl. She was saying something similar about Ivy yesterday."

A few minutes later, the three sat contemplating the problem.

"I don't want to lose Ivy, not if I can help it," Beryl said. "She works well with Daisy now, and Joe Molesley is coming along well as a records clerk. I think he's happy to be away from Mr. Barrow."

"Even with Thomas's improved attitude," Elsie agreed. She turned to Charles. "It was one of the more brilliant moves for you and Mr. Crawley when you hired James. It's changed the entire atmosphere in the file room."

"That, and Miss O'Brien _finally_ leaving," Beryl said. "Talk about a poisoned atmosphere around here-"

"But that has nothing to do with the problem now," Charles said, frustrated. "Mrs. Mason, I have a solution in mind, but you won't like it."

"Oh?" Beryl said. She put her hands on her hips. "And what is that, pray tell?"

"Madge Simmons has expressed an interest in becoming a secretary to you, hasn't she?"

"Yes."

"Why don't I let Miss Baxter train her? She can still help with the records work, but she can also help Miss MacClare to support Robert and Cora."

"That's fine," said Beryl, "but I don't see what that has to do with Ivy."

"I think Ivy would do well in our city office," he explained. "It's a smaller place, but they have more excitement there, being downtown. She can be both a secretary and a records clerk there. Mrs. Crawley needs a records clerk more often than I've been able to spare one, especially considering her medical malpractice work."

"And Ivy lives closer to downtown than to here," Elsie said quickly. "She would not have to drive as far to work."

Beryl slumped in her chair. "I don't like it, but it seems the two of you have already made up your minds. It seems I'm to lose a records clerk."

"Only if Ivy accepts the offer," Elsie said gently. "Although Anna told me she is interested in working in the city." She got up and headed for the door. "Would either of you like some coffee, or water? I'm going to the kitchen."

"I'll have some water, thank you," Beryl said. Elsie left, closing the door behind her. "Speaking of interest..."

Charles was lost in thought. "Hmmm? What's that?"

She rolled her eyes. "Do you know how long it took Alfred to ask Ivy on a date?"

 _What does that have to do with anything?_ "I'm sure I have no idea."

"She hadn't been working here for two weeks, Mr. Carson. That's less than fourteen days."

He frowned, drawing his eyebrows together. "Well, I suppose he wanted to ask her before anyone else did. Although I think asking someone he'd known for such a short time is rather improper."

"I'm glad you acknowledge the possibility that a woman might be popular with the gentlemen." She crossed her arms. "Would you say it was a good thing Alfred asked her? Showed her a bit of interest?"

"I suppose so. Beryl Mason, what _are_ you saying?" Something was obviously going on in her mind. She shook her head.

"Mr. Carson, _all_ women need someone to show a bit of interest every now and then. Preferably in a manner that's not entirely proper." She raised her eyebrows. "That's all I'm saying."

They sat not speaking. Charles tapped his pen on his shoe. _All_ women. There was only one woman that occupied his thoughts that way.

It occurred to him that he had known Mrs. Hughes for far longer than two weeks. But could it be possible that she felt…felt _that_ way? He thought that it was dreamland that she could like him as anything more than a friend. That any sign, word, or action that could have been construed to mean romance, surely was a flight of fancy on his part.

But what if it wasn't only a dream? What if he'd been wrong?

He could not deny that ever since her cancer scare, it was getting harder and harder to ignore certain things. Like how she teased him, gently, in front of others. Perhaps once he would have gotten angry, but now he was used to it.

How he noticed more often the things she wore, in particular the clothing that complimented her natural beauty.

How he'd rather risk the social ire of his peers, rather than skip the Friday drink at Pedro's with her.

How he looked forward to seeing her during the week, and how empty the weekends seemed to be in comparison.

How unlike it was from her early years at the firm, that he couldn't remember the last time she'd mentioned going on a date.

How the thought of her going on a date with anyone was hateful to him.

Maybe he _should_ show a bit of interest, just to see what happened. If the thought wasn't so terrifying, he probably would. Old doubts, memories of his youth, bubbled to the surface to taunt him.

 _She's a beautiful woman, why would she want to be with you? She's fine with being your friend, but if you mention anything more, she'll reject you. Or laugh. She hasn't gone on a date in a while? So? That doesn't mean she'd want to go out with you. What would it look like, you going out on a date with your office manager? Do you really want to ruin your friendship?_

He would rather things continue as they were. Even if he kept thinking about her in ways that were more than friendly.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

 _January 1, 2015_

Bill handed him a Sprite. He glanced up from the pre-game commentary on Oregon versus Florida State.

"Thanks." He took a sip, and scratched the black lab's ears, Captain's. Bill sat down on the couch.

"Beryl wants a word. I'm just warning you."

"Oh? About what?"

"I'm surprised you have to ask, you big lump." She plopped down next to her husband. Charles let out a huff of anger.

"That was uncalled for!"

"No, what's uncalled for is you being here today. _Alone_." She drew it out into a long, multi-syllable word. He leaned his head back against the recliner.

"Not this again. How many times do I have to tell you? Mrs. Hughes doesn't want to go out with me." He felt a stab of hurt in his chest at the thought of her.

"How do you _know_? You've never asked her!" She petted Morgan, who was laying on the floor.

"Why should I?" He set down his soda can with more force than he intended. "You, and she for that matter, are always going on about how I need to realize we are in the twenty-first century. If _she_ wanted to go on a date with me, and has wanted to for years according to you, why hasn't _she_ asked _me_?"

"Oh, I see, it's all on her, that's convenient-"

"Bee, that's not helpful." Bill put a hand on her arm. "Charlie, what would you say if she did ask you?" His tone was merely curious. Charles had never really thought about the possibility. _I would not like it, and probably would overreact. Make things worse._

Shame welled in him. He opened his mouth, and shut it again. _She has never asked because she knew you would not react well._

 _She knows you well. Probably better than you know yourself._

"I would say that she was being unprofessional," he said hoarsely. "If she asked me out, I would not take it well. I…would probably panic, considering how I hate to think about how I feel, much less…have someone confront me about it." Beryl snorted.

"How do you feel about Elsie?" asked Bill. Charles looked at Beryl, a plea in his eyes. She got up.

"Right. I'll leave the two of you to chat," she said. She whistled for the dogs and disappeared into the kitchen. The room was quiet except for the voices on the television. Charles thought hard, but in the end, he had to tell the truth. In some ways, it hurt to admit it, admit his own foolishness.

Images flooded his brain. Her first interview, her at her desk, at Pedro's, at the Komen race in 2010. She, by his side as he recovered from heart surgery. There was hardly any aspect of his life for the last quarter-century that did not involve her. "I love her. I think I've always loved her, since the beginning. Not in the same way as I do now, but somewhere it changed from the affection between friends to loving a good woman," he said. He put his fingers on the bridge of his nose, feeling a rush of emotion. "Bill, I've been a damned fool when it comes to her."

Bill leaned forward, his hands on his knees. "Well then, I think you know what to do. You're not getting any younger, and neither is Elsie."

He wet his lips with his tongue. "But what if…she doesn't want me? How could I work with her after that?" Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small voice said that Elsie was nothing like Alice; she would never betray him like that.

"Charlie," Bill said, tapping his knee, "I think it's well past time you stop second-guessing yourself. Move forward. Beryl feels the same way I do, she just uses different words. And," his eyes twinkled, "do you really think she'd keep on you if she didn't know how Elsie felt? If there was nothing there, she would leave you alone." They looked up as Beryl came back into the living room, unable to stay away for long.

"I don't know what he said, but I've got advice for you. New Year's advice."

"What's that?"

"Carpe diem, seize the day. It is the first day of the year, always a good time for a new start." She held up her hands. "I promise, I won't say a word to her about this conversation." She walked over and poked him hard in the shoulder with her finger. "But I'm warning you, if you hurt her, you'll have me to deal with."

"I would expect no less," he said. He didn't know what he would do if he asked Elsie out, and she said no.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

 _January 2015_

She rubbed her eyes, peering at the screen. Thank God tomorrow was Friday. The first full week after the holidays was always difficult, but this one seemed particularly so. She felt bad for crying at Beryl's on New Year's Eve. She wished she could have had more restraint. Part of her wanted to blame it on the whisky, but she knew that was not the problem.

She had had patience. And still nothing from him. There were flashes, moments sometimes, but in the last few months she'd begun to despair that he would ever say anything. She had tried to think about dating again, but could not imagine it. She could not date anyone else, not as long as she loved him.

Well, she had his friendship. That was better than nothing. And Becky, and her friends, and a surrogate family. Life was not empty, far from it. She was never one to wallow in what might have been.

He knocked quietly on her open door. "You're here late." She glanced at the clock, it was almost 6:30.

"I could say the same for you," she sat back in her chair, removed her glasses. "What do you say, should we call it a week and go to Pedro's a day early? I could use a drink, couldn't you?"

He gulped, held his hands up. "I don't think I should."

"Why not? We can toast our already-broken New Year's resolutions," she said.

He cleared his throat, hands tugging on his trousers. His face was tense. She had never seen him look like this, so nervous. What was wrong with him?

"I was wondering…instead of going to Pedro's tomorrow…would you like to go out for dinner? I know a nice place downtown."

She could not be convinced she was hearing this right. The look on his face convinced her she was not dreaming.

 _Oh my God._

She tried to recover from the shock and make sure she _was_ hearing it right.

"Mr. Carson…are you asking me out on a _date_?"

His forehead crinkled with worry. "Yes. And…you're not offended?"

 _Darling man, no one_ _ **else**_ _would think that!_ "Mr. Carson," she smiled, her eyes sparkling, her voice trembling, "I can assure you the very last thing in the world that I am at this moment, is offended." It was all she could do to contain her joy. Her entire body was tingling. What she really wanted to do was leap over her desk and kiss him.

"I won't press you," he said, still looking solemn. "If you want to think about it until later, that's fine." He looked down and said very low, "I'm not asking anyone else."

She blinked rapidly. It would not do for her to cry, not now. "Well then."

"Well?" he asked. He looked like he was waiting to be rejected. Her heart melted.

"Of course I'll go to dinner with you, you old booby!" Her face broke into a smile that he had never seen before. "I thought you'd never ask."

 **A/N: First flashback…I kept hearing the opening riff to Stevie Wonder's "Superstition", thinking of Elsie walking out of the lobby. The other ones, I know they're Beryl heavy, but really, Charles would always need a nudge from her, wouldn't he?**

 **The next chapter will also be a flashback. Their first date. :) I will get back to the main story-line, but these are fun.**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Flashbacks continue…their first date! Squeeee! Butterflies in my tummy! Thanks to ChelsieSouloftheAbbey for the song selection…Ella Henderson's "Yours" was on endless loop while I was writing this, along with a healthy dose of Nat King Cole's "When I Fall In Love". I'm such a sucker for these two.**

 _January 2015_

He raced home after work, showered, and just for good measure, shaved again. Carefully. When he slapped aftershave on, he wondered what it would feel like if she touched his face.

 _What the devil should I wear?_

The restaurant was not overly formal, but it was one of the nicest in the city. But these days, it was impossible to know of any set dress code. He bemoaned the younger generation, remembering the last time he had gone to dinner at this particular place. There were people there wearing _jeans_. That would never do.

He pulled a pair of pressed tan trousers out of the closet. A dress shirt and a suit jacket. He hesitated, but then decided not to wear a tie. He refrained from using much product on his hair; she said she didn't mind if things were a bit more casual. For the sake of his nerves, he agreed.

He kept the top button on his shirt unbuttoned, telling himself all the while he was being vain.

As he drove into the city, he kept thinking she'd tell him he should have worn a tie. Or button his shirt up properly.

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The drive home from the office normally took fifteen minutes; she made it in ten. She opened her closet, made a face at everything she saw, then hopped in the shower. Maybe the hot water would provide inspiration. She tried not to think about him touching her. His big hands on her waist.

 _Everything in this closet makes me look old. Or fat. Or both._

In the end, she settled for the long black skirt, and a rather sparkly gold top. She covered it with a black leather jacket. She thought the top might be a touch too revealing for him; if even a little glimpse of her 'girls' was too much. She didn't want to scare him off on the first date. _Too late now._

She wore her hair down. She was sure he wouldn't like it.

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He got to the restaurant fifteen minutes early. During the elevator ride up, he felt his palms sweating. He rubbed his fingers together, forced himself to breathe deeply. He didn't care for heights, but the view was worth it.

"Reservation?"

"Yes, Carson, for two." He felt a ridiculous sense of elation giving the hostess the details. He followed her back to the table, and approved of its location. He sat down, and couldn't seem to figure out what to do with his hands. On the table, on his lap. After a minute or so, he pulled out his phone and texted her.

 _Charles Carson to Elsie Hughes, January 9, 2015, 6:56 pm_

 _I've got a table. See you soon._

Reluctantly, he put the phone into his pocket. He didn't want to leave it on the table; that was rude. Looking around the restaurant, there were empty tables here and there, but not many. The place was filling up fast. He could see the hostess leading a couple to a table farther back. No sooner had she reached her station at the front, when she came leading someone else back. They were almost to his table when he recognized her.

Elsie.

But she looked so… _different_.

He realized he was staring when the hostess left, and he quickly stood up, pulled out her chair. She seemed surprised, but smiled.

"Thank you. You look quite nice," she said, settling into her chair. She glanced to her left, and her mouth fell open.

"This view is incredible! Did you have to bribe someone to get this table? I've never seen the city from this height!"

He had not really taken it in himself. He could not take his eyes off of her.

"You look amazing."

His voice rumbled into her consciousness, breaking her away from the view. His gaze made her mouth go dry and her heart pound. She blushed, folding her hands on the table.

"Thank you, Mr. Carson."

"Charles." He had thought about it in the car. Whatever this new path was, however long it would be, he wanted a break with their professional lives. If anything, her blush deepened.

"Thank you, Charles," she whispered. It felt terribly intimate calling him by his first name. To settle her nerves, she took a sip of water.

His heartrate skyrocketed when she pronounced his first name. He took a quick sip of water to steady himself, and to change the subject. He could not spend the entire evening staring at her. He'd melt.

"No, bribery was not involved," he said, a smile hovering on his lips. "Although it did help that Alfred's cousin is a sous chef here, and he needed some legal advice a year or so ago." His smile widened. "He was very grateful for my help, and simply said if he could repay the favor…"

"So you took him up on his offer," Elsie grinned. "I see." She looked out at the view again. "I've never been here before."

"I've only been a few times. It's been several years," he said. "But I have to say the company this time is much better."

She laughed, looking down at the table. "The way you say that, you make me want to check that my hair's tidy."

"Get away with you," he murmured. "I like your hair down." She looked up, surprised.

"You do? I thought you wouldn't," she ran a few fingers through it. He swallowed, his own fingers twitching at the sight. He was glad the waiter interrupted them. She let him order a bottle of wine while she looked at the menu. When the waiter had gone, she leaned over.

"You really should not have spent that much. Your dinner alone will be ten times what we normally pay at Pedro's, never mind the wine. I'll be hard-pressed to find something in my budget."

"Let's not begrudge the friendly neighborhood bar," he said. "It's a good place that has many happy memories, at least for me. But this is a special occasion," he leaned over. Their faces were only a couple of feet apart. "I know you're an independent woman, and you like to stand on your own two feet. But I would appreciate it if you would let me pay for everything tonight. Don't worry about the cost. If you want to repay the favor later, I won't object."

She opened her mouth to protest, then shut it. _Let him do this for you._ His generosity made her eyes well up. To cover it, she teased him. "'Repay the favor later'? You're assuming the evening will go so well, we'll want to do this again."

"I do hope that," his eyes twinkled. "And as for tonight, it's not just our first date. We're also celebrating your birthday."

"It's on Sunday," she said, raising her eyebrows. "I'm surprised you knew."

"I'm trying to learn as much as possible about you. If we're to have a second date, that is."

The rest of the evening flew by. In many ways, it was not much different than their usual Friday routine. In other ways, it felt as though they had never spent time together. He was fascinated watching her eat. She exclaimed over everything, letting him have a bite off of her fork. She was amused by his fastidiousness, knowing the use of every utensil.

"Does it really matter which fork you use?" she laughed, dabbing at the corner of her lip. When she shifted in her chair, her breasts bounced. He forced himself to concentrate his vision north of her neck.

"Yes, it does," he protested. "Otherwise, they would just have one. You forget I used to set the tables at the fraternity."

"I thought that was something _you_ wanted to forget," she said softly, taking another sip of wine.

"There were some good things in that experience. Attention to detail being one of them."

"You certainly have that," she watched him as he joked with the waiter. The view of his skin under his collar was enough to drive her to distraction. She bit her lip, wondering if it was the effect of the excellent wine.

"What?" he asked. She realized she was staring openly.

"I've never seen you without a tie."

"Oh," he grumbled, pulling his jacket closer over his shirt. "I knew I should have worn something more appropriate-"

"Charles, no," she said, putting her hand over his. "I like it." She swallowed. "You are quite handsome, you know."

"I hardly think my ego needed to hear that, but thank you," he whispered. He turned his hand over, and when she started to pull hers back, he laced his fingers through hers. They said nothing for a moment, eyes on their intertwined hands, as the city lights blinked below them.

"Sir? Ma'am?" They looked up as the waiter stood with another tray. Chocolate mousse, with HAPPY BIRTHDAY drizzled in raspberry across the top, sat on a white plate.

"I know it's not the actual day, but Happy Birthday, Elsie." he said. She put her hand over her mouth, shaking her head. It was almost too much. _I don't deserve him._ He frowned, a worried expression on his face. "Don't you like it? I know you don't like a fuss."

"I love it," she managed to say. "I can't remember a better birthday celebration. Sunday will pale in comparison, Bill and Beryl invited me over." She laughed through her hand. "I won't mention tonight."

"But you don't mind the dessert?" he persisted.

"Not at all, it's lovely." She took a bite of the mousse and closed her eyes, savoring the taste. "Mmmm. Wonderful. I just wish I could eat it all now, but I'm stuffed."

"That's all right. They can wrap it up for you." He paid the bill while the waiter took the mousse away, bringing it back in a box. They left their table reluctantly, unwilling to let the evening end. Waiting for the elevator, wearing their winter coats, he suggested a nearby coffee shop down the street. She agreed, thankful for their time to continue. They were pushed to the back of the elevator as a group of people crowded after them. They found each other's hand on the long ride down, and didn't let go until they had reached her car. She put the box inside and they headed to the coffee shop, braving the wind. She laughed as he shut the door behind them.

"You should have worn a hat! The wind played with your hair something awful," she giggled at his bemused expression.

"Go on and find a seat. I'll get the coffee." She left him in line and looked around the room, wondering if there was space for them. Then her eyes fell on two familiar faces. Her heart stuttered. _I can't stop them from seeing me, but I have to stop them from seeing_ _ **him**_. She went back to Charles, tugged on his sleeve, and explained the situation in a whisper. His eyes widened.

"Do whatever you have to," he said. "I'll get the drinks. Meet me at the fountain in the park. It's lit up there, we can walk around for a few minutes." She nodded and glanced at the would-be tellers of their secret. Fortunately, their attention was directed at each other. She approached the corner table slowly.

"Good evening, gentlemen."

They both started, obviously forgetting anyone else was in the room.

"Mrs. Hughes? I didn't expect to see you here," Thomas began, while Jimmy straightened up in his chair.

"You look very nice. Were you meeting someone?" He leaned on his elbow.

"Yes, but he's left, and I'm on my way home now," she said smoothly as Charles walked by on the other side of the window.

"Who did you meet?" Thomas asked. Open curiosity was evident in both of their faces. "It must have been someone special, you don't get dressed up like that for just anyone."

"I think you know I'm not answering that question, Mr. Barrow," she smiled.

"Can't you give us a clue? Come on," Jimmy begged. "We wouldn't tell." He raised an eyebrow, turned on the charm.

 _Not likely._ "Oh you know me, a woman of mystery if there ever was one," she bit back a laugh as the two shared an exasperated glance. "Have a good weekend." She left, making sure they didn't follow. She found Charles a block away under a streetlight.

"Thanks for the coffee. Sorry about that," she said as they looked at the fountain.

"It's not your fault. It's a big city, but I shouldn't have assumed we wouldn't see anyone we knew," he said, sipping his drink.

"Let's walk. It's too cold to stand still," she suggested. They circled around the fountain as its colors changed. She sighed, letting the warmth of the hot mocha seep into her bones. He was quiet, watching her out of the corner of his eye. She caught him looking. He smiled back and finished his coffee, tossing his cup into a trash can. She finished and did likewise. They continued circling the fountain.

"I've had a very good time tonight," he said, feeling the wind rake through his hair. "I hope you have as well."

"Yes, very much so," she agreed. "Thank you very much for dinner." She slipped her hand into his, glad of its warmth. She knew she should put on gloves, but she didn't want to. He stopped, keeping hold of her hand.

"So would you like to do this again? Dinner? I can't promise the same restaurant every week, but there are plenty of good ones around here."

"My, you are keen," she teased. "We're still on our first date, and you're already thinking about the second."

"I am thinking about you, Elsie," he whispered. The way he said her name went straight to her core.

He did not want to wait anymore. He reached up and held the side of her face in his hand. The warmth of his body drew her closer. She turned her face slightly, more into his hand. His thumb caressed her lower lip. He bent over and pressed his lips to hers. She slid a hand under the lapel of his winter coat, feeling the jacket beneath, then his shirt. When she touched his bare skin, under his chin, he let out a soft moan, breaking their kiss. They stood still for a moment, the changing colors reflecting around them. Their breaths billowed, visible in the night air. His eyes were dark.

He slid his hand from her face down to her waist. She pulled him closer by the lapels, her hands on his chest. She tasted coffee and wine on his soft lips. Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure he could feel it, even with the layers of clothes between them. She gasped as he opened his mouth over hers. She ran her hand behind his neck, holding him in place.

Everything was spinning. He felt the curve of her waist beneath her coat, and explored her back with his hands. She reached higher, finding the soft tissue of his ear, and ran her fingers down his jawline. Eventually, they broke apart, but not before he gifted her one last kiss, on her forehead. He kept his arms around her as she swayed on the spot, trying to regain her balance. They laughed.

"Yes," she said, her voice shaky. "I think we should go on another date." She was not sure how she would last before the next one. Involuntarily, she shivered.

"I'm sorry, it's terribly cold out here," he said, leading her by the hand back down the street to the parking garage. They stood reluctantly beside her car.

"I don't want to go, but I must," she heard herself say. He gave her a gentle kiss, then lifted her hand and kissed it as well. Tremors that had nothing to do with the cold ran through her body. She knew on the surface that things would not go any farther, but she had never felt so intoxicated. She would have rather kissed him all night than gone to bed with any other man.

"Drive safely home," he said. He held her door open as she got in. Closing it after her, he stood out of the way as she pulled away. He made it to his car and sat for a few minutes while it warmed up.

He didn't know what had come over him, but he regretted nothing. And the way she felt in his arms, her hands searching for him, told him what he wanted to know. He would not press her, would never presume too much, refused to push too far.

But she wanted him, that much was certain. He knew he wanted her, all of her. But the thought of intimacy scared him. It had been years, for him. Decades.

One thing was for sure. It may have taken him twenty-five years to kiss her, but he would not wait that long to do anything more.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Back to the main timeline – January 2016**

Charles sat in the running car, fiddling with the heat. The clock changed to 7:41 am. He stifled a yawn as Elsie hurried out of the door, through the garage and into the driveway. He chuckled when she got into the car.

"You're the one always wanting to be on time. I'm more relaxed about it than I used to be." She rolled her eyes, fastening her seatbelt.

"It's a different routine now. I'm just getting used to it. Besides," she swatted his arm, "if _someone_ hadn't kept me in bed for an extra twenty minutes, there would have been no need to rush-"

"Who was this man?" he growled. "How dare he interfere with your morning routine!"

"Stop the car!" she cried suddenly. He hit the brakes, and they came to a stop in the middle of the street.

"What? Did you forget something?"

"Yes," she said. She leaned over, drawing his face to hers, and kissed him square on the mouth. He was grateful he'd thought to put the car into park. She sucked on his lower lip and he moaned. Honking his horn, a neighbor passed them. They broke apart, breathing hard.

He changed the gear and drove on, loosening his shirt collar. "What…what was that for, Els? You already kissed me this morning. Several times."

"I know," she said, fumbling for her lipstick in her purse. "But I wanted to kiss you one last time before we got to work, and I have no intention of doing so in the parking lot. No matter how much others would enjoy the show." She smirked.

"I'm glad you thought of that," he said. "I'd probably forget."

They drove the rest of the way to the office without further incident, stopping only to pick up breakfast. Arriving at the building, they exited the car and went through the main lobby into the front doors of the firm. Anna sat at the front desk.

"Are we late?" Elsie asked as they removed their coats and hung them in the closet. The younger woman looked up, distracted.

"No, it's 7:58 by my computer's clock. Good morning, Mr. Carson."

"Good morning, Anna. I'll see you later," he said to Elsie, and climbed the stairs. Elsie smiled at Anna, but it faded when she saw the younger woman's worried expression.

"Oh dear, was it a late night? Did the bairn keep you awake?"

"No," Anna hesitated. "The baby's fine, and so is Poppy. I thought about calling you over the weekend, but I knew you'd be busy, so I didn't."

"And what were you going to call me about?"

Even though no one else was in the lobby, and Elsie could hear Andy clearly talking to Thomas in the file room, Anna lowered her voice. "John heard something at the gala, New Years' Eve."

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Charles climbed the stairs, holding his briefcase in one hand, and balancing his coffee and turkey bacon sandwich with the other. He stopped for a moment in Alfred's office.

"Good morning, Mr. Carson."

"Good morning, Alfred. I meant to ask you about the Conway deposition last week. How did it go?"

"It went well, I think." Alfred sat back in his desk chair. "None of our clients were identified in the cross-examination, and when Mr. Maloney tried to steer the questioning in that direction, I objected on the record."

"Very good," Charles said. "If you want to come talk to me later about deposing Dr. French, I'm available this morning."

"How about 10:30?"

"That's fine." Charles stepped away and headed into his office. He set the coffee and sandwich on his desk, and his briefcase in one of the spare chairs. He was checking emails when Robert walked in.

"I thought I heard your voice."

"Good morning, how was New Year's Eve? Did anyone miss me?" Charles wasn't looking at Robert. When he heard the door close, he tore his eyes from his computer screen. Both Robert and John stood between him and the door. Both looked unusually tense.

"What's this about?"

They exchanged glances before Robert spoke.

"There was a rumor going around at Dickie Merton's gala. I didn't think much of it, but Mary heard from her law school friend Sawyer Ingram on Saturday, and he asked her about it. So it's spreading, we know that much."

"And what is this rumor?" Charles was not very concerned. Gossip and speculation were always rife, but there was no need to take most of it seriously.

"That Edna Braithwaite, a secretary at Haxby, saw Mrs. Hughes getting into a car in Victory Park," John said. "Last September, apparently. Richard Carlisle insinuated to me that even though the windows of the car were tinted, Edna could see enough…" he coughed, his face turning pink. "She saw enough to seriously question the morality of our office manager. And now, your fiancée. Edna didn't see the man with her. But it wasn't your car." John looked down, at a loss for words. "That's the rumor."

Charles's face went white, then red, then white again. "That's…this is…no. No," he said, firmly, feeling anger boil within him.

"I told Carlisle it couldn't be true," Robert jumped in. "Absolutely not. He asked me how well I knew Elsie Hughes, and when I told him I'd known her for twenty-five years, and that she would _never_ do such a thing, he then asked me how long I'd known that you and she were together." He shuffled his feet, anxious. "I had to admit to him that your engagement was a surprise, that I'd had no idea the two of you were dating."

"He seemed to take delight in that," John said with a snort. "That all of us had been so surprised by your announcement. And then Steven Russell said, and I quote, 'Perhaps you don't know her as well as you think you do. Neither does Mr. Carson.'"

"This is impossible," Charles burst out. "How _dare_ he make such an accusation! He doesn't know her, doesn't know me…" He leaped to his feet and began pacing by the window. He turned abruptly. "I don't know this Edna whoever-she-is, but it seems _very_ convenient for this story to come out now. When did she say she saw this happen? Last autumn?"

The two men nodded. Charles scoffed. "I know what this is. Carlisle and Russell, over there at Haxby, they've tried to take our business for years. They failed. Now they're trying to destroy my reputation, this firm's reputation. And they think targeting Elsie is the way to do it. Well, I will not stand for it," he stood in front of the bookshelf, in front of her picture. "They can come after me all they like, but God help them if they think they can go after her!" He forced himself to take a deep breath, but he was not remotely close to calming down.

"The trouble is," Robert began, putting his hand on the back of a chair, "lies go around the world before the truth has time to pull its trousers on. And," he held up a hand as if to keep Charles back, "the fact is, Elsie has dated other men in the past. So to some people, there's a sliver of doubt involved."

Charles turned red. " _What-_ "

"Steady on," John said, stepping between Charles and Robert. "He's not saying that it's true, only that some people may believe it. But no one here does."

"I should bloody well hope not!" Charles shouted. The other two flinched. He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm…sorry. I don't mean to take out my anger on you. You're just the messengers."

"Is there anything you want us to do?" John asked. Charles shook his head.

"No, not right now. I have to think about this. And Elsie…" his heart plummeted into his shoes. "I'll have to tell her. Now. I won't have her hearing it from someone else."

"Actually, Anna was going to tell her," John said nervously. "She was very upset when I told her about it. She wanted to call Elsie on Saturday, then thought she'd better wait to see her in person." Charles nodded and blew out a long breath.

"If I couldn't tell her first, then Anna would be the best one. I'll go and talk to her now, though." He paused. "I'm sorry that you had to listen to that. I wish I'd been at the gala, kept the rumor from spreading."

"You could not have known that such a thing would be said," Robert put his hands in his pockets. "And if you _had_ been there, I suspect nothing would have been said in your presence, and they would have waited until you were gone."

"That's likely true," Charles said, heading for the door. John exited first, but Robert blocked the way.

"I want you to know," he said, his eyes gentle, "that neither Cora nor I would ever believe Elsie capable of cheating on you. And you'll be glad to know that Mary defended you both ferociously. I had to hold her back from hitting Carlisle. Most of our other friends, Dickie Merton and Judge Garrett among them, don't believe a word of it either."

"Thank you, Robert. That means a lot. I'll have to thank Mary later," Charles said. Robert went into his office.

Elsie sat in her office, her eyes not taking in the screen in front her. At Charles's soft knock, she looked up. He pushed the door to close it, but did not close it all the way. She got up and went around her desk, her face crumbling.

"Oh God, Charlie, what people must think of you-" He caught her in his arms. "It feels like my fault, why did I _ever_ date Steven Russell? He's been looking for a way to ruin you for years-"

Guilt surged through him. _What people think of_ _ **me**_ _? What about you?_ "Hush. If anyone is at fault, it's me," he whispered, wiping her tears with his thumbs. "If I hadn't been so determined to keep our relationship private, this rumor wouldn't have legs to stand on. I take full responsibility." She opened her mouth to object again, but he raised his eyebrows, his hands holding her face. " _Full_ responsibility. None of this is your fault." He felt his own tears coming. "I'm so sorry you had to hear those things said about you. Your reputation means more to me than my own. It always has." He held her for a few minutes until she stopped shaking, rubbing her back.

Whatever he said, she still felt guilty. She regretted few things in her life, but it felt as though every questionable decision ran through her mind like a movie. The rumor itself almost felt secondary to the blow to his professional, as well as personal, reputation. She could live with some scandal; her true friends knew who she was. But she couldn't stand gossip about him. He, her Charles, had been a practical paragon of virtue throughout his entire career. She couldn't stand the thought of a stain on his reputation. Because of her.

"I should move back to the condo," she said, her voice breaking. "I won't give any more fodder to the gossip. I don't want any more damage done to your reputation. If everyone sees me as some kind of whore-"

"Elspeth Margaret, I _never_ want to hear you say that word again!" He grasped her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye. "And you are _not_ moving back into the condo. If you do, people will really think there's some truth to it." He blew a hard breath through his nostrils. "We will be together from now until forever. We will be married in April." He relaxed, his voice a gentle murmur. "All right?"

"I love you, Charles Carson," she whispered. He kissed her softly.

"I love you, soon-to-be Elsie Carson." She smiled at that. He squeezed her hands. "Now. I am curious about a couple of things, which I'm sure you are as well. Do you know the woman who said she saw you get into the car?"

"Yes," her mouth pinched into a thin line, her eyes cold. "I only met her once, but I remember Edna Braithwaite. She interviewed here a few years ago, for a secretarial position. I didn't hire her, and she obviously took it personally."

"It seems strange that she would feel so strongly about it now, though," Charles sank into a chair, she into the other. "She got another job."

"I wonder if Steven put her up to it. She doesn't seem like the kind of person to start this sort of thing. It seems likely that someone did put her up to it, otherwise why wouldn't she spread the rumor before now?"

Charles tapped his finger on the armrest. "I think you're right. This is for maximum damage. What gets me is that this isn't professional. It's personal." He mused for a moment. "Who would want to get at not only me and you, but the whole firm? It's not just our reputations at stake."

She snorted. "Ironic, isn't it? Attorneys have affairs, get divorced. Hardly a month goes by without hearing about some scandal or another. But firms rise and fall, depending on their reputations. Depending on the scandal." Her voice got quiet. "But there's never been a story involving me, not one that affects us." She clenched her fists. "When I find out who started this-"

"I think I know." He was staring into space, but held a finger in the air.

"What? Who?" She leaned forward. He raised his eyebrows at her. Her mouth fell open as he nodded. "If you're right…as if the first time wasn't bad enough…" He could almost see the steam pouring out of her ears.

"We can sue. Force a settlement, since they won't go all the way to trial. They have no solid proof, it's only rumors." He slid out of his chair, stood up. "If I'm right, they will pay. Literally," he growled. "I will make sure they will be unable to hurt anyone here ever again." He put his hand on her desk phone.

"Are you going to call him now?" He shook his head.

"Not yet. I want to be sure first." He picked up the phone and dialed. "Hello, Mr. Branson? This is Mr. Carson. I understand Mrs. Hughes will be visiting the city office tomorrow," he looked at his fiancée, a silent question. She nodded. "I will be coming with her. Can you spare an hour?"

 **Don't hate me. *cowers under my desk* Please trust me, I have a plan, there's plenty of fluff (and more flashbacks) still to come.**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Thank you for your reviews…I love you all.**

Isobel Crawley held the elevator door for them as they hurried across the lobby.

"Good morning!" she said in her usual cheerful way. "Carson, we weren't expecting you as well as Mrs. Hughes. Let me offer you both my sincerest congratulations!" They thanked her and managed to make small talk until they reached the office. Elsie felt awkward. She had assumed Isobel had heard about the rumors circulating, but it seemed the older woman had no idea why both the office manager _and_ the managing partner were visiting the city. Either that, or she was ignoring the elephant in the elevator. She was rather good at ignoring the obvious at times.

They hung their coats up with a minimum of fuss. To Elsie's relief, Tom Branson popped his head out of the conference room. "Mrs. Hughes? Mr. Carson? I thought we'd meet in here. I've got coffee, if you'd like some."

"Thank you, Mr. Branson," Charles said. Elsie resisted rolling her eyes with difficulty. He called all the other attorneys by their first names, but with Tom he often fell back on older traditions. They went into the larger room and were surprised to see another man seated at the round table. He ran his hand through his dark brown hair and stood up.

"Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes, it's lovely to see you both again."

"Mr. Gregson, this is a surprise!" Charles shook his hand, confused. Elsie sat down after doing the same with only a side glance at Tom. He shut the door behind him.

"Good morning, Michael," Elsie said. "It is nice to see you, but I have to say we didn't expect to see you here this morning."

"He's here because I asked him to come," Tom explained, taking a seat. "I hope you both don't mind, but I called him after I spoke with you yesterday and gave him a quick summary of what's going on."

"After which, I immediately called a few boots on the ground to dig a little deeper," Michael said, smiling. "I'm a journalist, I'd be no good at my job if I didn't have any sources to rely on. Not to publish a story," he said quickly at Charles's raised eyebrows, "but simply to uncover information."

"Did you find anything?" Elsie asked. She was impressed and a little touched at the speed at which everyone was working.

"Not as much as I wanted to. But I did find out some interesting details about Edna. She's heavily in debt, for one thing," Michael said, glancing down at his notepad. "And there's more than one collection agency after her."

"What sort of debt? Do you know specifically?" Charles asked.

"Mostly credit cards, though she does have a significant student loan burden as well. She seems to have spent heavily over the last few years. Mostly on personal items, clothing, travel, things like that. The appearance of a lifestyle beyond her reach." Michael paused. "Tom managed to contact a former landlady of hers."

"A Mrs. Audrey Bartlett," Tom said. "She was in no mood to talk to me, I won't lie."

"Why?" Charles demanded. "Is she working with Edna? We suspect she did not conjure this story out of thin air and disperse it on her own." He glanced at Elsie as he sipped his coffee.

"I didn't get the impression Mrs. Bartlett was in contact with her," Tom said. "Not recently, anyway. She did tell me that Edna had lived at that location until last July. She also identified Richard Carlisle as a visitor to the apartment complex, but that was several years ago, before Edna moved in. She was always a day or so late on her rent," He grinned. "No, Mrs. Bartlett told me she didn't like lawyers, they only 'twist your words, or they're incompetent', is what she said."

"Is there anything else about Edna that you found out, Michael? From what Tom says, it may be that she's known Carlisle for a while." Elsie sighed. "I would not put anything past that man."

"Not much more than what I've told you already," Michael said, tapping his pen on the table. "But I did manage to arrange an appointment with her at my office later this afternoon." His eyes twinkled. "If you and Mr. Carson care to join me, I won't object."

"Certainly we want to be there!" Elsie cried. "How can we ever thank you?"

"If you want to thank anyone, thank Edith," He leaned back in his chair. "She may not work at the family business, but she cares deeply for everyone who works there. I've rarely ever seen her and Mary angry at the same time, and it not be directed at each other."

"I'll second that," Tom agreed. "Robert told me Mary was spitting fire at the gala."

"I'm sure she was," said Elsie. "She'll go to the ends of the earth to defend Charles's honor." She patted his arm.

"Yes, that's true. But she also made it very plain to Carlisle and Russell that you are a woman of excellent reputation, and that no one who worked with you could doubt that you love Mr. Carson with all your heart."

Elsie could not stop her mouth from dropping open. Charles leaned forward.

" _Mary_ said that? About Elsie?"

Tom nodded. "If you don't believe me, ask her yourself." He folded his hands, staring at the table for a moment. "I don't want to embarrass you, but the two of you are held in very high regard by everyone at the firm. You've earned the respect and the affection of your peers. And we won't tolerate a single blemish on either of your reputations," he said, a wide smile growing on his face. "Edna Braithwaite has no idea what she's unleashed. Everyone from Robert to Andy is ready to chase her out of town. And if we find anyone else helped her or put her up to it, they'll face the fire too."

Elsie dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. "Now you're making me cry," she teased through a watery smile. Charles held her hand.

"We're very touched, Tom, thank you," he said softly. He got up and shook his hand.

"You're welcome. I mean it, every word."

They discussed details of the afternoon meeting with Mr. Gregson, agreeing to meet at five o'clock. The rest of the morning was spent quietly. Charles stayed in the conference room to work. Elsie enjoyed eating lunch with Gwen, Ivy and Jane, and equally enjoyed catching up on everyone's holidays. At the end of the work day, Charles met her in her office and they walked the five blocks to the magazine office. Michael met them at the front doors, them having been locked behind the employees after closing.

"Thank you again for arranging this meeting," Charles said as they walked in. "Is she here yet?"

"Yes, she's in my office. This way. You've just missed Edith, she left to pick up Marigold."

"Please tell them we said hello, and thank Edith for us in particular," Elsie said as they made their way through a maze of cubicles.

"I will," he nodded, then pushed open his office door. Edna looked up, first seemingly calm, but when she saw the two companions with Michael her thin face went white.

"You didn't tell me _they_ would be here," she cried, standing up and making her way to the door. "You said you had information about-well, I see. This was just a set-up. You won't be getting anything out of me." She stepped towards the door. Elsie was not surprised. She had expected such a reaction.

Charles stepped in front of Edna, blocking her way. "You agreed to meet Mr. Gregson here at this time. We did the same." He lowered his voice, shutting the door behind him. "You are not going _anywhere_ until you tell us everything."

Edna pursed her lips and crossed her arms. "And what if there's nothing to tell? What if I saw what I saw, and there's nothing you or anyone else can do to make me say otherwise?"

He drew himself up to his full height. Elsie, standing behind Edna, marveled at the full effect. He was not looking at her, but she could feel his controlled rage strain against his self-discipline. Edna took a stumbling step backwards. She nearly fell into Elsie, who reached out and kept her upright.

"Miss Braithwaite," Michael said calmly, pulling out a wooden chair, "why don't you sit down?" Edna looked at him, then back at Charles, as if to see if there was some escape. Her shoulders slumped, and she sat in the chair, her eyes wary.

"What do you want from me?" she asked. Her head was turned toward Elsie, but her eyes had not left Charles.

"We want the truth. Why did you tell Richard Carlisle that lie about Mrs. Hughes?" Charles's voice was soft, but it fairly crackled with intensity.

"What will you give me if I tell you?" Edna asked boldly. At this, Charles erupted.

"GIVE you!? We'll give you nothing, and you'll be glad for it! What do you take us for!?" he roared. Elsie leaned over and squeezed his arm hard. He took a deep shuddering breath. Michael stood behind his desk, running his fingers along the glass top.

"As promised earlier, I will give you the same fee as I always give my sources," he said evenly. "Ask for more, and you won't even get that. And if you persist in trying to squeeze money out of anyone in this room, well. Let's just say the law is on their side." He sat in his chair, putting his feet on his desk, his hands behind his head. "You have precious little to bargain with. You think I don't know about you helping Carlisle cheat Haxby clients? I'm sure Steven Russell would _love_ to know that."

Edna bit her lip and folded her hands.

"Or why don't I call Caroline Anstruther and tell her how you seduced her latest boyfriend on that business trip last summer? She always takes that kind of thing very well."

The young woman virtually deflated in front of them. Elsie sat peering closer at the secretary. On the surface, she looked like a woman with the world in front of her. But her expression held fear, like she carried a great weight on her shoulders.

"All right," Edna said quietly, "It wasn't my idea."

"Oh, I think we all knew that," Elsie said under her breath. Edna kept on.

"Back in August, Richard called me into his office. Said he had a job for me. He'd pay extra for it, too." She licked her lips nervously. "I had collectors ringing me day and night. I needed the money." She looked at Elsie, guilt all over her face. "He wanted me to follow you. See where you went, who you saw. So that's what I did."

Charles stood up. "You _followed her-"_

"Charles, _please_! Let her speak."

"I followed you," Edna said, wringing her hands. "It went on for weeks. You never went anywhere out of the ordinary."

" _Weeks?_ Where did you follow me?" Elsie asked, more out of curiosity than anything. She was also shocked. How on earth had she gone for that long without noticing someone following her? _Have you noticed anything much for the last six months other than Charles?_

"Mostly to work, or where you lived. Around town, doing errands. I-I followed you when you visited your sister." Elsie's own temper was beginning to rise but she kept it in check.

"But the only place you went that didn't make any sense," Edna said, her voice low, "was to Mr. Carson's house. I found out who lived there easily enough after the first week. I'd park down the street and keep watch. I'd stay late, like two in the morning, to see if you'd leave, and text Richard that you were still there. That's what he found the most interesting."

Elsie shuddered, feeling a cold chill. "So Richard wanted to spy on me," she said, feeling nauseated. "Why? Did you ever see Mr. Carson?"

"He never told me why," Edna said, pulling her chair more toward Elsie and away from Charles. "But yes, I saw Mr. Carson a lot with you, at your condo, and other places. Richard used to ask me-" she grimaced. "He liked to hear…details. Like when the two of you went to the Jazz Festival and spent most of the evening in the back of the crowd, kissing-"

"Enough," thundered Charles. Elsie thought about restraining him again, but her own ire spilled out.

"So you followed us, infringed on our _private lives_ , and Richard Carlisle wanted to hear about it!? I suppose he was looking for something to use against us!" She paced along the wall, her face pale with anger. She felt violated. All those months, they thought their relationship was private, and now to find out they were being followed, on the whims of a voyeur. Her blood boiled.

"That's just it," Edna said quickly. "Other than you and Mr. Carson meeting so often, there was nothing that he said he _could_ use against you. Then just after Thanksgiving, he called me into his office again. This time there was someone with him, a woman. I'd never seen her before. She seemed to know Richard, though. She started coming along when I'd follow you, and make notes about what we saw."

Elsie and Charles looked at each other before looking back at Edna.

"Who is she? What does she look like?" Charles asked.

"Her name is Faun Holland," Edna said, shaking her head. "She wore different things, things to change her appearance, wigs, hats, different colored contact lenses, things like that. Sometimes she acted really strange," she pulled on the sleeve of her blouse. "Like if you were leaving work, she wouldn't sit next to me in the car. Instead, she'd lay in the backseat and cover up with a blanket.

"I couldn't tell you with any certainty what she looks like other than she's white and looks to be late '40s, early '50s. She was the one who came up with the idea of starting a rumor, since we had nothing that pleased Richard. That was a week or so before Christmas."

Both Charles and Michael searched on their Iphones.

"Nothing," Charles said. "I don't know anyone by that name. And the description, it could be anyone."

"It's a clever thing," Michael agreed. "I don't know of anyone by that name, either. I'd assume it's an alias."

"Do you have anything that may help us identify her further?" Elsie asked. Her gut was telling her who she thought it was, screaming it. The secrecy and disguises followed a familiar pattern.

Edna's forehead crinkled as she thought. "No. I don't have a picture or anything…oh!" she exclaimed. "I don't know if it would help, but I've got a message on my phone from her, just a couple of days ago." Charles's head shot up. Elsie nodded vigorously.

"Let's hear it then." Her heart pounded. She, and only she, would know if it was the person they suspected. Neither of the men had ever met her. But she had. A feeling of cold dread settled in her stomach.

Edna swiped her finger along her phone, searching for the message. She clicked on it, hitting the speaker button.

" _If you think you can back out of this arrangement, you are mistaken. I don't care if your precious Carlisle is losing his nerve, I will not back away from it now. They deserve this, their reputations trashed! Everything they helped take away from me, I will pay them back in full-"_

"Stop." Elsie's voice echoed in the room. Edna stopped the message, looking up.

"Do you know who she is?" she asked.

"Her name is not Faun Holland," Elsie said, her lips in a thin line. "Her name is Vera Bates."

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"I should be getting home," Michael said. "It's nearly 8:00. I'm sorry to keep you both so late."

"Not at all," Charles said. "Better to get this business finished sooner rather than later." He put his hand on Elsie's shoulder, massaging the tight muscles in her neck.

"Oh, that feels good," she whispered, closing her eyes. Blushing, she wondered what Michael thought. He intentionally ignored the moment while clicking on his computer screen.

"I think that's all for tonight. We'll go over the details tomorrow, and I'll call Tom tonight to check on the apartment complex. Edna seemed pretty sure that was where Vera's staying while she's in town, but we'll want to be sure. And don't worry," he said, giving Charles a look. "You'll be happy to know that Violet's weighed in on your situation, and is fully in your corner. She came over for dinner last night," he said, answering Charles's unspoken question.

"What did she say?" Elsie asked, curiosity devouring her.

"She said the firm would never have lasted this long if it wasn't for the two of you. And she told me in particular before she left, 'Michael'," he said, adopting the elderly woman's imperious tone, "'Do whatever it takes to find the culprit, even if it is illegal,'" he grinned. "'You're very well placed if you're ever in trouble with the law', she said".

Charles and Elsie laughed heartily. They said goodnight and left the dark building, walking towards the parking garage, hand in hand. Neither spoke for several minutes, thinking about everything that had happened.

"I'm so sorry to put you through this," he began as they waited to cross the street. The fountain glimmered a couple of blocks away.

"Charles, how many times do I have to tell you this is _not your fault_? You have no control over what Carlisle does, or Edna, certainly not Vera." _More's the pity._

"It's not that," he pulled her hand into the crook of his arm. "It's this plan. I still feel like it's dangerous. It should be me to go ahead with it-"

"You can't. I'm the one they've been following. It wouldn't work if they saw you." She went onto her tip-toes and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll be fine." He stopped, and she did also alongside him.

"I feel like I failed you," he whispered, his breath coming out in puffs under the street light. "Ever since we…we became _us_ , I wanted to make your life easy. To lift some of your burdens." He sighed, sorrow in his eyes. He tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "Not give you more."

She held his hands in hers. "No one's life is easy. I'm grateful that you wanted to try to make mine so. You could never add to my burdens, Charles Carson," she whispered as they inched closer. "You've helped me carry them for the last twenty-five years, even if you didn't know it."

Their lips pressed together, and for the first time in two days, both of them forgot about their troubles. She broke the spell first, feeling a shiver of cold even through her winter coat. "I'm sorry," she laughed quietly. "Maybe I need to buy a new coat."

"Here, you can wear mine. We're almost to the car, I'll be fine." He slipped his off and draped the huge garment around her shoulders. She pulled the collar tighter around her face, smelling him. They continued walking down the sidewalk, pausing only to glance at the fountain.

"Are you remembering our first date?" she teased. He smiled.

"As good of a memory as that is, I'm thinking of another, better one. Of a warmer day," he rumbled, kissing her hand as they went into the parking garage. "That day in June."

The thought of it warmed her straight through.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: To the guest reviewer and others who asked for the 'June' chapter…this is it. **MAJOR M SECTION STARTING HALFWAY THROUGH, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.**** _ **MAJOR.**_

 _June 2015_

The great mass of people wound their way through the city streets normally clogged with traffic. He could see Poppy clearly, sitting on James's shoulders. The rest of their group, clumped into threes or fours, were mostly in front of him.

"I've been meaning to ask ye all day, where did you find that hat?" The lovely Scottish burr asked, its owner appearing at his side.

"I didn't find it," he said, tipping said hat back on his head. "If you must know, Thomas and James bought it in San Francisco last month. They apparently thought my wardrobe needed an extra touch."

She laughed. "Well, the fedora suits you. You should wear it to the office." She lowered her voice. "I like it, it makes you more handsome than ever." She reached for his hand, but at the last moment, refrained. Anna turned around, beckoning her forward.

"Go on, go join them," he said quietly. "We'll have time later. And," his voice only carried as far as her ears, "when you walk in front of me, I enjoy the view much better."

"Mr. Carson, how risqué," she said, passing him with a smile. Her already flushed face reddened further. He slowed down to put more distance between them.

"What did Mr. Carson have to say?" Anna asked as Elsie caught up with the group.

"Only that he was glad to have the hat. It's warm today," she said, fanning herself with her hand. _Thank God it_ _ **is**_ _warm. Otherwise my face would give everything away._

Six months.

Six months of dinners, drinks, kisses and laughter. Shared stories and holding hands across the table.

She didn't want to admit it, but she was…frustrated.

 _Oh, you should not complain. It took the man twenty-five years to work up the courage to ask you on a date. What did you expect?_

She reminded herself that she was fifty-nine years old, and was perfectly capable of an adult relationship, without making it all about sex. She had made the mistake before of going to bed with a boyfriend too soon.

They had talked about it. That had been a very awkward, but very necessary, conversation.

Simply put, he was not ready. She remembered how nervous he was to tell her.

" _I'm not as much a woman of the world as you think I am," she responded. His expression was inscrutable. She tried again. "I…I do have experience, but it's been a long time for me as well."_

" _But not as long as it's been for me," he said, a sad smile on his face. He sighed. "It's a wonder you want to have anything to do with me." She put a hand on his arm, and he put his hand over hers. "It's not just sex, Elsie. I've been alone most of my life. To share everything is a big leap."_

It was a big gap for her to cross as well. The thing was, they were _different_. They already shared so much that she wondered if there was anything else that held him back.

"Poppy, are you getting warm? Maybe you should walk next to me with the umbrella," Anna said to her daughter, who clutched Jimmy tighter around the neck.

"Whoa, sweetheart, don't choke me," he said, loosening her grip.

"No, Mama! I want to stay here!" Her hat flopped over her face, her blonde hair trailing down her back.

"All right then," Anna did not look convinced. Elsie glanced at the young man, sweat pouring down his face.

"Do you want to hand her over to me for a while? I can carry her," she said, arms outstretched. He nodded gratefully.

"Here we go, Poppy, over to your Nana." She caught the little girl mid-stride and transferred her to her back. Thankfully, her surrogate granddaughter took the change well. Elsie bit back a laugh. _She just doesn't want to walk. Heaven help us, we all spoil her._

"When you've had enough, I'll take her," said Thomas. Anna laughed while Jimmy downed half a water bottle in one gulp.

"A five kilometer walk, and none of you will let her take a single step! John was worried she'd never make it!"

"Your man worries too much," Thomas said, sliding one arm around her and the other around Jimmy. "He needs to learn his daughter's got a whole crew to look after her."

"That's true," Elsie agreed, turning slightly to see Charles. He had George on his shoulders and walked next to Mary. He raised his eyebrows at Poppy riding piggy-back. Elsie mouthed _I'll be fine_.

They finished the Komen race forty-five minutes later. By that point, Mary carried Poppy on her back and George rode on Thomas's back. Elsie met Charles in the parking garage, their cars next to each other.

"You look hot," he said, not thinking. "I mean," he said quickly, "you should probably go home and lie down. Do you still want to come over for dinner?"

"Yes," she opened her car door to let out heat. "You should rest this afternoon, take a nap. One of these years, you should walk _without_ wearing a suit. It would be much cooler."

"But if I did that, I'd be arrested for streaking," he said, deadpan. She laughed heartily before getting in the car. On the way home, she couldn't stop thinking about him walking naked down Grand Avenue.

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He drank three glasses of water, ate a banana, and fell asleep on the leather couch. When he woke, it was 4:30. Keeping the shower water cold, he felt refreshed afterwards. He set out the marinated chicken to grill and then called Elsie.

"Hello?"

"Hmmm? H-hello, Charles," she sighed, languid on the couch.

"Did I wake you?" he asked, worried. The last thing he wanted to do was annoy her.

"No…I woke up a few minutes ago. Still sleepy," she mumbled.

"If you just want to rest this evening, and stay home, I won't mind. I can make dinner another time," he said. His heart plummeted. _Oh God, please let her come over._

"No!" she protested, sounding more awake. "No, I'll be fine, I need to shower, but I'll be over after that."

"All right," he said, feeling relieved. "See you soon." He went back to preparing food, carrying utensils out to the grill on the patio, moving the small table out of the sun, opening a bottle of wine to let it breathe.

He put candles on the table, as well as inside on the kitchen counter, arguing with himself. _It looks like you're trying too hard. No, she likes candles, it's not like you're scattering rose petals on the bed._

 _I want it to look subtle, but how can it be? We've been dancing around this for months._

 _No,_ _ **you've**_ _been the one holding off. She was ready for this in January._

He groaned as the grill heated up. Part of him had been ready at their first date. But this wasn't just any woman. This was Elsie, and he wanted to do this right. There could only be one first time. And he did not to ruin it.

After their extended, heated kissing Memorial Day weekend had gotten to the point when they were on her couch, her leg wrapped around his and his erection straining against his trousers, it had taken all of his willpower to get up and create space. He had spent most of the next week kicking himself for not giving into spontaneity. _I was not going to have sex with Elsie for the first time on her couch. She deserves better than that._

Elsie had teased him for being a closeted romantic. Truth be told, he had always been one. He just had never had the opportunity to show it. Until now.

She came around the side of the house when he was finishing the chicken. He set the foil-wrapped asparagus on the grill.

"Ooh, that smells good. Can I help you with anything?" she asked. He said nothing for a moment, taking in her appearance. She wore a fresh blue dress that landed just above her knees, and matching flats. Her hair was in its usual up-do. A long silver necklace accentuated her neck, landing just above her concealed cleavage. She looked fantastic.

"No," he rasped, his voice suddenly dry. "Thank you. Dinner's almost ready, go ahead and sit down."

He insisted on serving her food, even pouring her glass of wine. She wondered at his unusual silence.

"What's the occasion?" she asked as they finished cleaning the dishes. He had set his record player by the back door and it echoed old classics into the darkening backyard. "I mean, you always treat me well, but the music? Candles? We've only been dating for six months, I don't think that warrants an extravagant celebration." Underneath her words, her heartbeat increased. He was nervous, that was certain. For what reason, she didn't yet know.

"Does there need to be a specific reason?" he asked, taking her hand. "Five years ago, when you had your biopsy, I thought I would lose you. I knew then, even if I couldn't admit it, that I was lost without you."

"I never had cancer, you know," she said quietly, squeezing his hand.

"I know. I'm just sorry it took me this long to show you how I feel," he whispered. He pulled her by the hand into the living room. The song changed as he held her by the waist, dancing to Frank Sinatra.

 _I've got you under my skin_

 _I've got you deep in the heart of me_

 _So deep in my heart that you're really a part of me…_

"This song has made me think of you for years," he murmured, kissing her slowly. "Talking myself down from even thinking you would want to be with me. But I could never give up completely."

 _I would sacrifice anything come what might, for the sake of having you near_

 _In spite of a warning voice, comes in the night, it repeats, how it yells in my ear_

' _Don't you know, you fool, ain't no chance to win? Why not choose your mentality, get up, wake up to reality?'_

 _And…each time I do just the thought of you makes me stop just before I begin_

 _Because I've got you under my skin_

 _And I like you_

 _Under my skin_

His mouth was flush on hers, one hand on her back, the other on her shoulder. His tongue slipped over hers and she moaned at the sensation. Static erupted from the record player. He stepped back, let go of her, and shut it off. Before she had time to register outrage, he was back in her arms. He kissed her again, his fingers barely skimming her hair. She sighed against his lips. Her head was spinning, and her knees wobbled.

"I want to tell you now, before we go further," he said, pulling her chin up. His eyes were soft. "I love you, Elsie Hughes. I. Love. _Y_ _ou_. I'm so proud that you want to be with me. I hope I will never disappoint you."

Her chest heaved, and she closed her eyes. _He_ _ **loves**_ _me,_ _ **He**_ _loves me, he loves_ _ **me**_ _, he said he loves me…this is no dream, this is reality._ "Charles Carson, you should not worry about disappointing me," she breathed. Her eyes sparkled. "I love you, my man."

He lowered his head to kiss her again, but his nose bonked unceremoniously against her face. They flinched, still holding on to each other. There was a pause, and then they both laughed. He hugged her, drawing her into his warmth.

"I always knew that wretched conk of mine would get in the way," he joked. She giggled into his shirt. He kissed the top of her head, moving his lips down across her forehead before landing at the tip of her nose. Her lips found his and her hands caressed the sides of his face. His hands slid down her back. Gasping, she startled when he squeezed her bottom. They held each other's gaze for a long moment. Then without a word, he blew out the candle on the kitchen counter and led her by the hand to his bedroom.

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She kicked off her shoes under his desk while he turned down the bed. She was trembling, but it wasn't from nerves. Her entire body felt alight. She reached up to undo the clasp in her hair.

"Stop." He held out a hand, coming around the bed. Confused, she frowned at him. He put a hand on her shoulder, turning her to face the mirror above the desk. "Let me do it."

His fingers stroked her shoulder, her neck and behind her ear. She leaned back into him as he undid the clasp, letting her hair fall. He kissed her hair, twining the strands through his fingers. He then removed her necklace, carefully placing it on the desk. She was mesmerized, watching him in the mirror. His reflection gave her a grin before he pressed his soft lips against her neck. Heat pooled between her legs and she moaned aloud. He ran his hands along her belly, up to cover her breasts. Her own reflection in the mirror arched against him, her hands pulling his head down lower. He nipped at her collarbone, feeling his erection poke at her behind.

He turned her around and they lavished each other with kisses. She gasped as his hands cupped her bottom and she could feel him through her dress, through his trousers. All her control fled.

"I want you, a ghraidh, my man," she hummed into his mouth. She unbuckled his belt and removed it from the loops on his trousers, dropping it on the floor. Reaching up, she clasped the back of his neck as he sucked her swollen lips. "Make love to me."

He moaned, a loud sound in the quiet room. He lifted her in his arms and set her gently on the bed. She clasped her knees around his waist, untucked his shirt and unbuttoned it. She sucked in her breath when he removed his shirt. He wore a sleeveless undershirt underneath, leaving his bare shoulders and neck exposed. His arms, if anything, looked bigger. He slipped off the other shirt and pulled her closer, so that her legs were wrapped around his waist. She ran her fingers through the soft white hairs on his chest, over his scar. She held her hand over the discolored skin, feeling the beat of his heart. _Warm. Alive._

He slipped her off of the bed and unzipped her dress. It fell at her feet and she stepped out of it while he picked it up, laid it over the chair. She climbed back onto the bed, watching as he unzipped his own trousers and took them off. His shorts were tented, barely hiding him. Lying next to her on his side, he caressed her collarbone while his lips traced down her neck. His tongue left wet traces on her skin. As he kissed lower, she touched his hair.

"Yes, don't stop, a ghraidh," she gasped as he licked the top of her breasts. Somehow he got her bra off and he tasted her bare skin, licking and sucking the nipple until it hardened. She threw her head back against the pillow and cried out. He thumbed her other breast, swirling around her right nipple. He gently pressed against her scar, feeling a lump in his own throat. He carefully left kisses on her right breast until she was pulling his hair with the intensity of her pleasure.

He wanted to draw her pleasure out as long as possible. He would not put himself first, or else the evening would end with him satisfied and her disappointed. He would not have that.

He kissed down her belly, moving between her legs, nudging his knee through them. She parted them wider, desperate for him. He slipped his fingers beneath her panties, pulling them off. She was fully exposed to him.

He nearly came undone at her scent. Still, he kissed her legs, planting a small nip by her right knee, an open-mouthed swirl of the tongue on the inside of her left thigh. She rocked her hips forward, and he placed a huge palm on her belly. She raised her head.

"Please," she begged, pulling his other hand down to her sex. He watched her face in fascination as his fingers touched, pressed, searched. She moved against him, increasing the friction. He had never done this, never watched a woman come undone. He increased the pace, sliding multiple fingers through her folds, until he found what he was looking for.

Her stomach clenched and her mouth was dry as her frenzied breaths continued. _Yes, yes, don't stop, don't stop, touch, yes, yes, go, yes, yes, yes,_ _ **yes**_ _, go,_ _ **YES YES YES-**_

She keened, exploded against his hand. Her shrieks rose higher as the aftershocks vibrated through her body until she could slow down, panting hard. Every extremity was shaking. She lay quiet for a minute or two, the only sound her breathing. He wore a wide smirk, proud of his accomplishment. The wonder to her, when she could think again, was that she wanted **more**.

That had never happened to her before.

She pulled him down for a searing kiss on the mouth. "I want you," she gasped, her shaking fingers caressing his lips. He tore his shorts off in one motion, settling himself between her legs, his tip right at her sensitive folds. He slid into her, letting her get used to him. She stretched her legs and felt him inside. Then he slid out and back again, slowly, trying mightily not to let go yet. She wrapped her legs around his, holding him in place. "Make love to me, Charles," she repeated as they kissed.

He thrust into her again, feeling her tighten around him. He saw her eyes widen in a gasp, her mouth open and _good God, she was on the edge again-_

"Elsie!" he roared, as she keened again. He let go and thrust into her, poured himself into her. _Yes, my life, yes, woman, yes, how have I lived alone, lived without you, without my soul, yes, YES,_ _ **YES-**_

They moved together, frantic, their uncontrolled voices merging.

As their movement finally slowed, he felt wetness on his face. At first he thought it was sweat. She kissed him, then touched his forehead with her own.

"Love," she whispered, "are you all right?"

He tried to speak but couldn't. He gently separated them and rolled onto his side, facing her. He took a great gulp of air and realized he was crying. He sobbed into the pillow as she touched his face, his chest. Gradually, his tears subsided.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, their hands laced together.

"Why, Charlie?" She had never called him that before. Somehow it felt right, less formal.

"For crying," his voice wobbled. She pulled him into her arms.

"You never need to apologize for that. Never to me," she whispered, stroking his hair.

He kissed her hand, his breath slowing as he calmed. He looked up at her. She was gazing dreamily into his face.

"I wanted our first time to be great. For you to enjoy it," he said. "God knows you've waited long enough for me." She tilted her head, her hair falling across her shoulders.

"It was well worth the wait," she said, flashing a brilliant smile, "hopefully for you as well as me."

He hummed under his breath. "I will remember this day for the rest of my life. I don't say that lightly." She laughed.

"No, I know you don't," she sighed. "I am glad you didn't wait a quarter-century to make love to me." He slid an arm around her, feeling her naked skin beneath his hands.

"I wasn't about to wait that long." He kissed her cheek. "I love you."

She drifted to sleep in his arms. He relished watching her, knowing that he would never let her go.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Oh boy. I'm not terribly pleased with this chapter, but it probably has more to do with the fact I'm still a squealing mess after Sunday. Please let me know what you think. And just FYI – I intend to have most, if not all of the rest of this fic be fluffy and happy. So there. :-P**

 **January 2016**

"I changed my mind. I don't want you to do this." He stood resolute against the kitchen door. Crackling, the intercom buzzed to life as Anna paged Cora. Shaking her head, Elsie took another sip of coffee.

"It's too late for that. The plan's already in place." She sighed, got up from the table, and put her arm around him. "I can't promise that everything will be fine, but I know that we're taking every precaution."

"It's not just you," he protested. "You are the one I'm most worried about, of course, but what about John? What if she goes berserk and hurts him? Anna's had enough to deal with before, but now with the baby-"

"Which is why both Mr. Bates and I are very grateful you'll stay with her until this is over." Privately, Elsie hoped that Anna and Charles would have the fortitude to stay at the office, and not interfere. She knew that Anna's instinct was to protect John. She said a quiet prayer of thanks that Anna's unborn child would ground her to reality. She thought wryly it was too bad the same could not be said of Charles.

She was more nervous than she showed. She was not at all sure that the plan would work, dependent as they were on Edna. But it was not enough to simply rid themselves of a malicious rumor. She, Charles and John wanted to end the threat from Vera for good, and the idea that Michael and Tom had presented seemed to be their best chance. Unfortunately, since they were dealing with Vera, it was also dangerous.

"Promise me you'll stay with Anna here, and not leave until you hear from us. Please?" Elsie tucked her head under his, wrapping his arms around her. "I'll feel better knowing you are out of harm's way."

He dropped his arms, spinning her so that she faced him, his hands on her shoulders. "And I'm supposed to be content, knowing you are _willingly_ putting yourself into harm's way? It was bad enough when you confronted that monster who attacked Anna!"

 _Alex Green_. She shuddered, thinking about that terrible-well, she could hardly think of him as a man. She had never been a pro-gun person, but she would never blame Anna for shooting him when he broke into her house. It was one of the rare times she was glad of the self-defense laws.

She never should have tried to confront him, but all's well that ended well. And she would not be alone this time.

With difficulty, she pulled her mind back to the present. "We don't know for sure what Vera will do. She doesn't suspect confrontation." _As long as Edna holds up her end of the bargain._ "All we've done is prepare for every situation. Mr. Lang will be there undercover as well, even though he's not on duty today. Tom called him personally this morning." She sighed, stroking his sleeve. "John and I will not be alone."

He pulled her into a tight embrace. "I'm glad Henry will be there," he said quietly into her hair. "If something happened to you, I would never forgive myself."

Elsie was about to reply when the door opened, and Anna and John came into the kitchen. Robert and Mary were right behind them. Reluctantly, she began to unwind her arms. Charles stopped her, instead planting a sweet kiss on her lips.

"I would say something about workplace PDA, but now is not the time," Robert said. To Elsie's surprise, he stepped forward and took both of her hands in his. "Mrs. Hughes, do be careful. We're all behind you."

"Thank you, Mr. Crawley," she said, touched by his concern.

"I'm going down now. Five minutes?" John asked, raising his eyebrows. She glanced at the clock. 4:05. Elsie nodded, and he shook hands with Charles and Robert before leaning over and kissing Anna. He murmured _I love you_ in her ear. No one commented on their obvious affection as he walked out. Elsie let out a breath. _No going back now._

Mary slid an arm around her friend. "He'll be all right. Everyone will be all right," she said gently, the fear in her wide eyes palpable. "Papa and I will wait with you and Carson."

"I appreciate that," Anna said shakily, controlling herself. She handed a set of keys to Elsie. "Before I forget, you might need these," she half-joked.

"Yes, maybe," Elsie said, trying to smile. She hugged Anna, jumping slightly as she felt a flutter. "Oh my, is the bairn wishing us good luck, too?" She patted the bump. Anna laughed with tears in her eyes.

"Mr. Crawley is right. We're _all_ behind you, even those of us without a front-seat view," she rubbed her belly tenderly. The kitchen door flew open as Beryl ran in.

"Am I too late? Have they gone?" she said, before noticing Elsie standing there. Her shoulders sagged in relief. "Thank God." She gave Elsie a hug. "You'll be fine. Just take care of yourself."

"I appreciate that," said Elsie, giving Charles a glance. "But if everyone could find a way to help Mr. Carson and Anna worry _less_ , I would be even more grateful." _Everyone's acting like it's our funeral._

"Carson can give me a tutorial on appellate procedures," Mary said, sounding more like herself. "Surely that will occupy his mind for a while." She took a deep breath and shook Elsie's hand. "Good luck, Mrs. Hughes."

Elsie murmured thank you before turning to Charles. "I will be _right back_ ," she said, emphasizing her words. The poor man was hunched forward, his hands clenched at his sides, as if to keep himself together. Not caring how it would look, she reached up and took his face in her hands. "I love you, Charles Carson," she breathed.

"I love you, Elsie Hughes," he sighed. They kissed once, then twice, then before she could lose her nerve, she walked out the door.

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Steering Beryl's big SUV into late afternoon traffic was not easy. Elsie was glad of the distraction, if only for a short while. She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Edna's car behind her.

"They're behind us," she said, shifting gears. "Are you all right?"

John lay hidden on the floor behind the front seats. "Fine, thanks."

She continued on until she saw the sign for the auto repair shop. Next door was a restaurant that served breakfast and lunch. Having been closed for several hours, its parking lot was empty. She parked the SUV next to the shop and checked her phone.

 _Edna Braithwaite to Elsie Hughes_

 _She doesn't know._

Elsie composed herself before unbuckling her seatbelt. She got out, and dropped the keys into the box next to the shop door. Then she turned and strode purposefully toward the white Elantra in the empty parking lot next door. Edna hesitated, but the woman next to her immediately exited the car when she saw Elsie coming.

"I told her you'd figure it out eventually." Vera was surprisingly calm. "You were bound to notice someone following you, though I must say, it took you far longer than I thought. Has someone been on your mind? Mr. Charles Carson, by chance?"

Elsie swallowed several insults on the tip of her tongue. The calmer Vera was, the better. She wanted to keep it that way. _Stick to the plan._

"I noticed Edna several days ago, and recognized her," she nodded as Edna got out of the car. "I didn't expect to see you here. Hello, Vera." She kept her voice light, as polite as she could. She hoped she was convincing.

The woman removed her auburn wig, showing the dark hair underneath. "I have nothing to hide, not from you, Elsie Hughes." Vera smirked. "Thought I was gone for good, didn't you? Well, I'm not finished, not by a long shot." Her voice was quiet, but Elsie could detect a hint of malice. They were separated by thirty feet, with Vera leaning against the car.

"To be honest, I am curious as to why you're here." Elsie said, not taking her eyes off of the ex-Mrs. Bates.

Vera laughed, a shrill sound. "Wouldn't you like to know?" Edna flinched, walking backwards towards the back of the car.

Elsie shrugged. "I should think you wouldn't have anything left here to trouble you." From the way Vera reacted, she knew instantly she'd said the wrong thing.

" _Left_ here!? I should damn well say I have something left here! And you have the gall to suggest I don't!" She leaned forward, pointing at Elsie. "It was _your_ precious Mr. Carson that represented my Batesy in court! He tricked me!" Her voice rose to a shriek. "That pompous bastard, no doubt he was like the rest of you, knowing _my husband_ was cheating on me while going through the divorce! Maybe," her voice lowered ominously, "Maybe Mr. Carson didn't mind John Bates sleeping with that little blonde slut because _he_ was sleeping with his office manager."

"That's enough, Vera!" They turned as John hurried from the direction of the SUV to stand next to Elsie. Vera's face lost all of her color.

"Surprised to see me?" John said quietly. "I can't say the same for you." Rage flashed in Vera's eyes as she backed against the Elantra, bending over to pull her coat down. "It's over. The divorce has been final for almost five years." He kept his voice steady. "Why come back? You could have made a life for yourself somewhere else, started over-"

"Like YOU!?" shrieked Vera. "I HAD a life with you, until YOU decided to chase someone else's skirt-"

John sighed, holding up his hands. "Our marriage was over long before I met Anna, you know that-"

"No," Vera cut him off. To Elsie's horror, she pulled a handgun from her pocket and pointed it at her and John. "The only marriage that's over is yours." Elsie held her hands up, feeling her heart stop and her life flash before her eyes. _Charles, my love, I'm so sorry._

"POLICE! PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPON!" bellowed a voice over an intercom. Out of the corner of her eye, Elsie saw Henry Lang hunched over his unmarked car. His gun was drawn and pointed straight at Vera. When she hadn't moved, a second voice, from behind the auto shop, boomed.

"THIS IS SERGEANT WILLIS! DROP YOUR WEAPON! _NOW_!"

John shoved Elsie down on the ground. She felt the loose gravel cut into her hands, but that didn't matter. _Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop_ echoed between the buildings. Elsie heard a scream from Edna, followed by a grunt and a thump close by. She rolled over, staying low, only to find herself staring at John Bates, lying on the ground.

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"Mr. Bates?" Elsie gasped, crawling toward him. _He can't be dead, no, Anna, Poppy, the baby, Anna-_

He was lying on his side, his face away from her. A figure went flying past them toward the Elantra. Just as Elsie reached John, he moved. Elsie cried out, more out of relief than anything. He flopped onto his back.

"Oh my God, are you all right?" Elsie reached for him, her hands shaking. John started to sit up, but another figure, this one in a police uniform, put a hand on his shoulder.

"Just stay down for a moment." The officer, a woman with light russet hair, looked up. "Strallan?"

"She's dead." A man's voice came from the Elantra. He shouted into his radio. "We need an ambulance! Lang's shot, MOS shot, and a civilian!" As he continued relaying directions, Elsie saw a third officer sprint across the lot to their right, toward Lang's prostrate form.

"She shot _both_ of them?" Elsie asked, blinking furiously. The earth spun around her. She felt someone take her arm, holding her in place.

"You had better lie down, you've had a shock." The female officer.

"Mrs. Hughes? Are you hurt?" Elsie jerked her head. John looked at her from the ground, worry etched all over his face.

"M-me h-hurt?" she stuttered, feeling the officer supporting her back. "No!" Her throat closed up as the tears began. "I thought you were dead!"

"No, no, I'm very much alive," he said, taking her hand. "Are you sure you're not hurt?"

"Yes," she said, feeling the cold asphalt beneath her. "I think I scraped my hand, but that's all." She turned to John again, feeling tears run down her face. "How are you not- _dead_?" He glanced at the officer.

"I thought of the worst-case scenario, and planned accordingly. They call them bullet-proof vests for a reason. Lang wore one as well, I hope he's all right." He winced. "I might have a bruise, though."

"We'll have the EMTs look at you," the officer said. "Right, Mrs. Hughes? Can I get you on your feet?" She helped Elsie stand up. The distant sounds of sirens got closer before the ambulance drove screaming into the parking lot. It was a relief when the noise ended, though the flashing lights continued. Elsie waited patiently as one EMT checked on John before getting to her. He checked her vital signs and asked her a few simple questions. She had calmed down, seeing John well. After the EMT questioned her, she saw two others wheeling Lang across the parking lot. He seemed to have several bandages on him, but he was clearly talking to the EMTs as they put him into the back of the ambulance. Yet another ambulance had its doors open, waiting as its crew lifted a covered body onto a stretcher.

"Mrs. Hughes?" the female officer said. "I'm to take you, Miss Braithwaite and Mr. Bates to the station."

"You don't have to go to the hospital?" Elsie asked him incredulously as they got into the squad car. She was mildly amused by the fact they were riding in the backseat, like criminals.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I wish I could say the same for Mr. Lang."

"He's going to be all right," the female officer said from the front seat. "He was shot in the chest, on the right side. He should recover quickly, though." She looked at Elsie and John in the rearview mirror. "I'm Officer Lavinia Swire, sorry I didn't introduce myself sooner."

"You were doing your job. Thank you," John said, Elsie repeating the thanks. They rode the rest of the way to the station in silence. When they got inside, Officer Swire took Edna back into a private room, leaving John and Elsie sitting in the hallway. Another staffer got them some water. Elsie stared unseeing at the opposite wall.

She was alive. Again. She remembered how it felt the day the doctor had called and said her cyst was benign. This felt similar, only magnified by the feeling of relief that John was all right, and that Vera was dead. Anna would not have to worry any more, and she and Charles could rest easier, knowing the person behind the rumor would not bother them ever again-

"Charles!" she gasped, sitting up. John started, as if he had been gazing into space. She looked under her seat and at the next seat over before remembering. "My phone is in my purse! I left it in Beryl's car!"

"I have my phone, I'll call them now," John said. "It hasn't been that long, maybe an hour since we met them, it's barely a quarter past five now." He punched a button on his phone and held it to his ear. "Hello? It's me, love," he said, his voice in the tone that he used with his wife. "It's over. It's all over, and we're all right." He looked at Elsie, as if to say _I'm not telling her everything right now._ "Y-yes, yes," he chuckled quietly. "I really am all right. We're at the police station, in the hallway," he said quickly. "It's all part of the procedure. I'm sure Mr. Carson won't mind driving you." He stopped again. Elsie could hear Anna's voice on the phone, but not the words. "Yes, Mrs. Hughes is here, she's all right," John said. "She's sitting next to me-what? Mr. Carson, she-she's fine. Yes," he said, a tad impatient. Elsie reached for the phone, and he handed it to her.

"Charles?" She asked. "I'm fine, I'm here, I don't suppose you ever thought you'd have to pick me up at the police station," she joked, but his voice made her stop.

"Elsie? Oh, thank God-" he choked, his voice was cut off by an unfamiliar sound, not one she had ever heard over the phone. He wept, his relief so strong that Elsie wept with him.

"Mrs. Hughes? It's Mary," Mary's voice was gentle. "We're leaving the office now, all except Mrs. Mason. Her husband's coming to pick her up and get their car. They'll come to the station after that. Papa, Carson, Anna and I will be there in five minutes."

"Is Mr. Carson all right?" Elsie whispered, trying to hold back her tears.

"Yes, now that he knows _you're_ all right."

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Charles stood in the hallway, the florescent lights flickering. He didn't notice, as his arms were full of Elsie.

"I'm not going anywhere, Charles," she murmured. "I'm right here." He dropped another kiss on her forehead.

"She was going to _kill_ you. How could I have ever let you-"

"She didn't kill me. She didn't even touch me. Here," she kissed him full on the lips. "Does that convince you I'm alive?" She was so grateful for his arms around her; it made it easier to try to make light of things.

Her cancer scare had not frightened him as badly. Maybe it was because he had yet to acknowledge his feelings then. All he knew was that the woman he loved more than his own life had nearly lost hers earlier that day. He felt so guilty, knowing she could have been spared the mental anguish if he'd only insisted on going in her place. _Oh really? You tried that, and she was having none of it._ He prayed that they would never have to go through such an ordeal again. He hugged her tighter, only loosening his grip when Officer Swire came out of an office, talking to Mary.

"Thank you," he said to the fair-haired woman, shaking her hand enthusiastically. "I can never thank you enough for helping Elsie." He wound an arm around his wife-to-be, while Elsie patted his back.

"You're welcome, Mr. Carson. It's all in a day's work. I must say, if you thank anyone, you should thank Detective Lang and Sergeant Willis."

"I shall. Where can I find the Sergeant?"

"He's gone home. He's been put on leave."

"What?" Elsie asked, echoed by the others. "Why? He saved our lives!"

Officer Swire nodded. "I know, but it's the policy of the department when an officer shoots someone, they get put on administrative leave. There will be an investigation, to which you've already given your statement, and after he's cleared he'll be back on duty." She cleared her throat. "No matter how bad the situation, or the criminal, no officer wants to shoot someone. It's a last resort."

"I'm sure the Sergeant will be back to work in no time, Carson," Mary said.

"Speaking of work," Robert said, "I don't want to see either of you, Bates or Mrs. Hughes, at the office tomorrow. And perhaps not the rest of the week. You both deserve some time off, after today." He paused. "I can't tell you how glad I am that you're both all right, and that maybe this wretched business is over, once and for all. I spoke with Miss Braithewaite. She has agreed to stop following you, Mrs. Hughes. And I promised to go with Mary later this week, to pay Richard Carlisle a visit. I certainly don't think he intended things to go this far."

"Maybe not," Charles growled. "But the fact that he worked with that despicable woman shows that he was willing to take things pretty far."

"I should think after he finds out what happened today, he'll want to crawl under a rock," said Beryl. "And not come out again anytime soon."

"He'll know we're keeping an eye on him," said John, his arm around Anna. "Steven Russell will be furious. I'll put money on that."

The group of them walked out of the station under the night sky. "Where's Poppy?" Elsie asked Anna as they approached their cars. "It's long past time to pick her up."

"Thomas picked her up from daycare, and took her to my mother-in-law's house. We'll get her tomorrow."

"Mother wanted some extra time with her. Says she needs to be spoiled before the baby comes," John said. Elsie was relieved to see him smiling as he unlocked their car. She gave Anna an extra hug.

"Sleep well tonight," she whispered, knowing that the two of them would probably sleep better than they had in years.

"You too," Anna smiled. "I'll call you later this week. We need to talk about wedding plans!" she called as Elsie got into the car next to theirs.

"We certainly do," Charles agreed as he fiddled with the heat dial. "I can't wait to be married to you." There was a gleam in his eye as he grinned at her. She squeezed his hand.

"Neither can I."


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: I interrupt this regularly scheduled programming to broadcast a public announcement. This is not a test.**

 **I am not on Tumblr. I have been on that site more in the last 72 hours than in my previous thirty-plus years of life outside of the womb (truth: my birthdate is October 12).**

 **I am disappointed, discouraged and frankly, appalled at what I have read and seen. There seems to be a civil war among the Chelsie fandom over what is, or is not, appropriate to write in regards to two fictional characters and how they are portrayed. Why this is happening** _ **now**_ **, when canon is beginning to reflect our collective imagination, I have no idea. It defies logic.**

 **Being new to this fandom, I assumed there was some underlying factor going on. The only point of contention I can see is one of personal preference. If I am missing something, please, someone PM me privately and tell me. I do not wish to offend anyone. However, I am offended, and I respect you all too much to keep my opinion hidden.**

 **What follows is my own personal philosophy in regards to fandom, and even life in general. Take it or leave it.**

 **We are all here for a reason. Whether you believe in God, or are spiritual, or neither. But we are here to lift each other up, not tear each other down. On our best days, we encourage our neighbors' gifts, whatever they are. In writing, some have the gift of writing a gentle romance. Some writers are wickedly funny. Some write prose that is lyrical, others are more pedantic. Some write K, others dive into the deep end of the pool, into M.**

 _ **And they are all beautiful, and lovely, because when someone writes a story, it is an extension of themselves. And each one of us is beautiful and lovely in different ways.**_

 **It takes a tremendous amount of courage to put our writing out there for the universe to see. We all know that. Over the past few months, I have read everything from K to M, from fluff to angst. Some of it I enjoyed more than others.**

 **But I learned, and continue to learn, from all of it.**

 **The most disappointing fact from the posts on Tumblr is this: that there are those who feel they cannot continue writing and sharing their creative gifts, due to being told said gifts, and thus in a way themselves, do not belong.**

 **This is a travesty. I do not believe that anyone who has expressed an opinion on the matter intended to have such an effect on their fellow neighbors.**

 **To those who lean toward a more dignified, respectful approach to the Chelsie fandom – I love you. I appreciate what you are saying. One of the great gifts of the characters as originally written is their restraint, their respect for each other. It makes their courtship all the more satisfying, because we can watch their progression. Fics that concentrate on this aspect (yes, that word) have a lovely, romantic feel to them. They explore different sides to the relationship we have gotten to know and love.**

 **To those who lean toward the racier aspects of the Chelsie fandom – I love you. I appreciate what you are saying. If there was no spark at all between the actors, no hint of romantic dialogue in canon, then we would have no leg to stand on. But there has been much of the former, and more of the latter, so indeed to take that and run with it in fanfiction and Tumblr is natural. And sometimes, we crave a bit of naughtiness. It's what makes us human.**

 **We all belong. The last thing we need is to lose gifted people. There is no right way, or wrong way, to celebrate the Chelsie fandom. The way I intend to celebrate it, is to continue writing, whether it's K, T or M.**

 **While I'm not prepared to divulge my real identity now, here's some things about me I freely share. I almost died when I was born, and it was only the grace of God and the skill of doctors and nurses at Barnes Hospital in St. Louis that kept me alive. My best friend from high school has cystic fibrosis, and if not for a double-lung transplant a decade ago, she would not be here, planning to publish a book. I believe life is a gift, and it should never be taken for granted.**

 **I love the St. Louis Cardinals, C.S. Lewis, and fried chicken. I am a member of SCBWI, an international organization of creative people who create children's literature. I am a Lutheran. The favors at my wedding were chocolate chip cookies, my favorite. I ran cross-country in high school. My fastest time in a 5K race is 23:26.**

 **My family and friends are everything to me. Both my parents and my in-laws have been married for 30+ years. My twin sister has children, as does my brother. I do not.**

 **My grandfather's name is Charlie, a family name. My grandmother's name is not Elsie, but she has a name that sounds similar. As of today, they have been married for 62 years. My other grandparents were married until my grandfather died suddenly; my grandmother never remarried.**

 **I sing in my church choir as an alto. Music is in my blood. I love Charles-Marie Widor's Toccata on the organ, Julie Andrews, instrumental movie soundtracks, oldies music, and American country music. And the Backstreet Boys. Judge away.**

 **If my life had a theme song, it would be Reba McEntire's song, "I'm Gonna Take That Mountain".**

 **My initials in real life are ALL.**

 **I love ALL of you, lovely Chelsie fandom. Let's enjoy this last series, shall we?**

 **Keep calm, Chelsie on!**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Back to our regularly scheduled broadcast. I finally came up with a perfect parallel to what I was feeling on Sunday, watching the choir sing "Oh Happy Day" from Sister Act 2. When the kid hits the high note, _that's_ what the last scene of Episode 1 felt like to me. :)**

 **Speaking of sequels, part of this chapter was inspired by** _ **Downton Wars – Episode 2.**_

 **I love you all, I hope you enjoy this.**

 **January 2016**

A week after the shooting incident, things had returned to normal. Elsie felt it particularly after the meeting with the new pastor at Charles's church. January to April suddenly felt like no time at all.

"I think I'm beginning to panic, to be honest," she said to Beryl during lunch. They sat in the kitchen by themselves at a table near the window.

"Why? You set the date at the church, didn't you?" Beryl opened a bite-sized Dove chocolate and popped it in her mouth, ignoring the remains of her salad.

"Yes, that's all settled," Elsie said, sipping her tea. "That's not the problem. The problem is that we've got to find a place for the reception, and a lot of places are booked months, if not years, in advance. The last place I called, the girl _laughed_ at me over the phone when I told her the date was in April of 2016."

"Well, you should be able to find some place," Beryl mused. "Bill and I were only engaged for five months, I think it was."

"But you held the reception at the farm. You didn't have to worry about finding a location, you already had one."

"Do you want to have yours there?" Beryl asked eagerly. "We rent out the barn for weddings and other occasions, but I'm sure Bill wouldn't charge you anything."

"Thank you, but no." Elsie hesitated. She had gone to more than one wedding at the Mason farm. William and Daisy's, Anna and John's, Beryl and Bill's. They were all lovely in their own ways. But Elsie was not convinced that the setting fit her and Charles. She wished she could figure out a way to tell her friend without being rude.

"It's not the place you're looking for," Beryl said, as usual hitting the mark. Elsie opened her mouth to protest, but nodded sheepishly.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Hughes?" The two women looked up. Thomas and Jimmy had been eating in another corner with Andy.

"Hello, Jimmy. It's nice to see you here," Elsie said. Thomas wandered over, drinking his water.

"Thanks. I've got a hearing this afternoon across the street. Listen, I don't mean to interrupt, but we thought we heard you talking about where to have your reception?" He glanced at Thomas, who leaned against a chair.

"Yes," Elsie raised her eyebrows, wondering where this was going.

"Well, we know a guy in the city. He owns a catering company, and they often cater to several locations in the area. His name's Mark Proctor, here's his number. Give him a call. You never know, he might know of a place that's available when you need it."

"Thank you." Elsie took the card. She doubted a place would be available, but it wouldn't hurt to call.

"When you call him, make sure you tell him you're a friend of ours," Thomas said, dropping his empty water bottle in the recycling bin. "He bloody owes us, he's getting married this fall, we _introduced_ him to his future husband at Mardi Gras last year-"

"Thank you, Thomas, I'll be sure to tell him." Elsie repeated wryly. The two men left the kitchen. Beryl raised her eyebrows.

"Are you sure they aren't just trying to get business for their friend?"

Elsie shrugged. "Maybe, probably. Still, I think I will call him."

"Don't forget, we're going dress shopping Saturday with Anna, Daisy, and Phyllis. Cora and Mary are coming, too."

"How can I forget, as you've reminded me every day this week?" Elsie rolled her eyes as they left the room.

00000000000000000000000000

Charles got out of the car, shivering as the wind hit him. He took Elsie's arm as they walked, shoulders hunched, across the parking lot.

"It doesn't look very big," he commented, glancing at the French country-style building. "And this neighborhood is rather industrial." He glanced at the huge warehouse on the other side of the street.

"Well, Mark said it's available on our wedding date, so I thought we'd better have a look." She leaned into Charles, trying to get warm. "If it wasn't for the wind, today would be a rather nice day. For January." They shuffled quickly toward the front doors, where a man stood waiting.

"I hope you didn't have to wait too long," Elsie said, removing her glove and shaking his hand. "You must be Mark. I'm Elsie Hughes, this is my fiancée, Charles Carson."

"Yes, I'm Mark Proctor. It's nice to meet you both in person." He wore dark-rimmed glasses. His goatee was dark like his hair, but had several strands of grey. He shook their hands and fished out a key. "I didn't have to wait long, just a few minutes. I'm glad it worked out you could come this morning."

"We have a bit of a time crunch, our wedding's in April," Charles explained as Mark opened the door, letting them in.

"Elsie told me about your predicament. Let's have a look around though, see what you think." He gestured to the huge room in front of them. The ceiling was industrial, but the walls were exposed brick. A long oak bar spread almost the length of the room to the opposite wall on their far left. In front of them, oversized windows showed a patio, bare in the winter chill. The way outside was marked by two French doors. In either corner of the room, tasteful chairs and a loveseat made a space for small groups to sit. The vast majority of the wood floor, though, was bare.

"If you're planning on dancing, this is where you would set it up," Mark said softly. Charles nodded, watching Elsie. She walked across the floor in front of the bar, looking at the ceiling and the size of the room.

"Can we see the patio? I'd like a look out there," she said. Mark hurried to the double doors and opened them for her. A blast of winter air hit them. A canopy stood over the doors to the outside, making a covering over part of the brick patio. Wicker chairs and couches sat under the canopy.

"Your wedding date is late April. By that time, we'll have vines and vegetation covering the fence. If you choose an evening reception, you'll have a good nighttime view of the city." Mark gestured to the skyline. "I know it's hard to visualize now, but there are pictures I can show you inside of what it will look like."

"What is that, over in the corner?" Charles pointed to an odd-looking brick structure in the far corner. It sat behind what looked like a small bar, with a roof covering it. Elsie and Mark looked in that direction.

"That is the pizza oven," Mark explained, rubbing his hands on his arms. "It's an extra expense, but it's very popular."

"The children would love that," Elsie murmured. "Sybbie, Poppy, George, Dickie Merton's grandsons." She tried to keep her face neutral, but as they went back inside and she got a closer look at the furnishings, she knew it was a lost cause.

The place was perfect. _Not too formal, not too casual._ It exuded warmth, almost like a home, but with a touch of elegance. She saw Charles eyeing the exquisite bar again, with all its intricate detail. It was a good sign he was quiet. It meant there was nothing to criticize.

Mark took them through a small hallway, where there was a big mirror on one wall, and the restrooms on either side, into the second room. It was just as large as the first. More windows let in light, with many of them stained glass. Wooden chairs and tables were assembled on the left side of the room.

"This is where food is laid out. We can also set up enough tables for a full sit-down dinner, up to 120 guests," Mark said. He went into more detail, mostly about the catering. Elsie and Charles listened politely and asked a few questions. Charles wanted to know about the wine list.

"Would we be restricted to the list you have available, or would it be possible to get others shipped?" he asked. Mark nodded as if he expected the question.

"It's absolutely possible to get any wine, beer, or any other beverage you might like that's not on our list," he said. "Of course, it's an additional cost-"

"That doesn't matter," Charles said, waving it off.

"Charles!" Elsie gasped. He looked back at her, his eyes soft.

"It doesn't matter," he repeated. "This is our wedding, we will want for nothing." He pressed his lips to her forehead, and she saw no further need to protest.

"If there's no further questions, I'll leave the two of you to talk about it," Mark pulled out his phone and started walking back to the bar room. "Oh," he stopped, turning. "Since you're friends of Thomas and Jimmy, I think we can negotiate on a final price – say a twenty-five percent reduction?" He smiled and walked into the other room, his phone at his ear.

Charles held his bride's hand. "What do you think?"

She raised her eyebrows. "I think _you_ like it a lot. Asking about getting wine shipped…"

"I do like it. But what do _you_ think? Can you see our reception being here?" He thought about the short time frame. It seemed like a miracle that the date they wanted was available.

She pursed her lips, not looking at him. Finally, she gave a little toss of her head, her hair bouncing on her shoulders. She put a hand on her cheek. Her eyes were shining.

"It's perfect, Charles," she whispered. "We can have dinner in here, and our guests can sit and visit if they like, or they can go into the other room, with the bar-"

"And dance the night away." He finished. "And there's the patio, too. Can you imagine it on a spring evening? The lights from the city?" He felt his smile stretch his face.

"You don't think it's too much?" she asked, a hint of doubt on her face.

"No," he said firmly, pulling her into his arms. "You, my love, deserve the wedding of your dreams. And I intend to make sure you have it. So there," he planted a slightly mocking kiss on her cheek, but moved his lips to her mouth. She parted her lips, feeling his tongue slip between her teeth. Her breath hitched when he tightened his grip around her waist and he lifted her off of the floor.

"Charlie," she sighed when he set her down again, tucking her hair behind her ear and kissing her neck. Her heart hammered and she struggled to maintain her composure. "Mark-he's in the-the next-room-"

She was finding breathing difficult.

"So?" he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. He bent his head, swirling his tongue under her ear. She moaned. "He's marrying a man, I don't need to worry that he'll steal you away." He left another long, lingering kiss along her jaw. "Of course, if you're around him long enough, you might change his orientation. But I don't think he's your type," he slid his hands up from her waist and to her shoulders, before sliding them back down to rest at her hips, "Is he?"

"No," she growled. She pulled at the lapels on his sport coat, bringing his head closer to hers again. Giving him a searing kiss, she wrapped her arms as far as they would go around him. He backed toward the wall, their lips still connected. He somehow found a solitary chair and sat down. He pulled her into his lap and resumed his slow torment on her neck.

Elsie had completely lost touch with her surroundings when there was a sudden cough behind them. She straightened up in a flash, fixing her face with the most neutral expression she could manage. Charles gasped, his face red as he glanced at the intruder.

"What do you think of the place?" Mark asked, his tone polite. A smile twitched on his face.


	20. Chapter 20

Phyllis kicked off her shoes by the back door and headed towards the kitchenette. It wasn't a proper kitchen, per se, but it was theirs. She smiled as she saw Joe snoring in front of the TV. Shutting it off, she kissed him lightly on his forehead, smoothing the wispy hair back. "Joe? I'm back."

He blinked twice, then yawned. He opened his eyes slowly, still half-asleep. "Hey, Phil." He stretched. "What time is it?"

"Almost five o'clock," she said, throwing her coat onto the recliner. "Do you want to get a pizza?"

"Sure," he said, sitting up. "I'll call now, then you can tell me about the afternoon." He dialed and placed their order while she poured herself a Diet Pepsi. "They'll be here in about forty-five minutes," he said, putting the phone down. "So…" he leaned over the counter on his elbows. "How was the dress shopping? Did she find something?"

"Mm-hmm," she said, sipping her drink. "It was fun. She loved the one she chose, so did we all. Even Mary got misty-eyed when she came out of the dressing room."

He raised his eyebrows. "Really? Who else was there?"

"Me, Beryl, Daisy, Thomas, Anna, Poppy, Mary and Cora," Phil said, ticking off people on her fingers. A smile crept across her face. "The third place we went was in the outdoor shopping plaza, you know the place close to John and Anna's? We ran into Violet and Isobel there. They said they were just window shopping, but none of us believed them."

"They were trying to sneak a peek too, you think?"

"Well…" Phyllis set her cup down. "Yes, I think so."

He leaned forward. "And?"

She shook her head. "Maybe I'm imagining things, but I think they were looking for a dress for Isobel, as well as see what Elsie would choose."

He shrugged, tracing a circle around her cup. "Well, I assume the place has more than just bridal gowns there. Maybe she and Violet were looking for dresses. There's nothing strange about that." He saw her expression. "Is there?"

She tilted her head to one side, her long brown hair falling over her shoulder. "Especially not if Isobel is thinking of getting married again." She grinned when his eyes bugged out.

"Do you _really think so-_ "

"It wouldn't be that strange, would it?" she laughed. "She's been dating the medical examiner, Dr. Clarkson, for a while now."

"Wow," he said, straightening up. "Just when I was getting used to Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes…wow." He pulled a cup out of the cupboard and filled it with water from the refrigerator. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he narrowed his eyes in mock-suspicion. "You can't fool me, Phyllis Baxter. You just want to throw me off the scent. Get to the good stuff, tell me about Mrs. Hughes and her dress."

She laughed again, giving him a hug. "Guilty as charged. Not," she raised her eyebrows, "that what I saw with Isobel isn't plausible." She kissed him lightly on the lips. "We went to six different places. The first two were disappointments, although Elsie did figure out what she _didn't_ want, which is just as important as finding what she did want."

"What did she want?" Joe had no idea. Weren't wedding dresses all the same?

"Not a white dress, for one thing. She said white would just wash out her skin. And she wasn't going to go for one of the strapless dresses, even though they've been all the rage for years. Beryl forced her to try one on, though."

Joe choked on his water. "A-a strapless dress?" He pounded his chest, coughing. He couldn't imagine Elsie Hughes in a strapless dress.

"Mmm. Of course she didn't choose it. But she looked quite nice," Phyllis mused. "Actually, she looked good in everything."

"Stop stalling. What did she choose?"

Phyllis squealed, tapping her hands on the counter as though it was a drum. She bounced on her toes. "Oh, it's _beautiful_. It's a champagne color, with half-sleeves. There's lace all over it, I _love_ the detail. There's a v-neckline with a higher collar, and the back is sheer, with lace covering it. Buttons all down her back…"

Joe's eyes started to glaze over as she rattled on. He had hardly ever seen Phil so excited.

Perhaps he should get the ring hidden at the back of his closet resized sooner, rather than later.

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The sign written in blue crayon made Elsie smile as she pulled into the driveway. _COME IN THE FRONT DOOR_ , it said. She parked in the garage, then walked back out around the sidewalk and pushed open the door. The smell of chili and apple tart hit her just before Sybbie did.

"Aunt Elsie! You're here, you're here!" She flew into Elsie, almost knocking her into the coat rack. Elsie swung her in a circle before setting her down.

"You're still a little pale, but your color's coming back. You must be feeling better," she hung her coat up and let the girl drag her by the hand into the living room. "Oh my, someone's been busy."

Construction paper, crayons, markers, a child-size pair of scissors, paper plates and Elmer's glue were scattered all over the table. Behind the counter, Charles set the apple tart on a rack to cool.

"Yes, _we_ have. You're right on time, dinner is ready."

"Look at my pictures!" Sybbie cried, holding up one creation after another, hardly giving Elsie time to peruse each one.

"Beautiful, lass! These are wonderful!" she said, sharing an amused glance with Charles. He cleared his throat, rubbing his hands together.

"Sybbie, we're going to eat in a few minutes. You need to wash your hands. Come on, I'll go with you and wash mine too." Sybbie huffed, blowing a strand of hair out of her face.

"Do we have to? I have another picture-"

"Now, missy," he said with just a touch of firmness. He gestured to the hallway with his head and she trotted to the bathroom. He kissed Elsie, his mouth lingering for a moment. "How did it go today? Success?" She smiled, looking up at him through half-closed eyes.

"Yes, very much so, though I can't tell you any of the details. Except that I did find a dress," she said, beginning to clear the table.

"Oh good. I was afraid you'd wear a pantsuit walking down the aisle. Not that you'd look bad, but you look better in dresses," he grinned.

"She didn't wear you out, did she?" Elsie called as he headed to the bathroom.

"Hardly. She took a nap this afternoon. Her cold's almost gone."

They lingered over their meal, Sybbie talking nonstop. Both adults had to remind her at intervals to eat. She chattered about the afternoon, how Uncle Carson had played chess with her; the story he told her before her nap about the princess who fell in love with a poor man, and how the man killed a dragon to win her father's approval; how they'd watched _Wall-E_ for the thousandth time.

"And you know what?" Sybbie asked, dropping bits of shredded cheese onto the table. "He found a record with the music in _Wall-E_ too! From _Hello, Dolly!_ We listened to it all day! My favorite song is the one about the parade," she said, finally eating more of her chili.

"It sounds like a wonderful time," Elsie said, her bowl empty. "I'm sorry I couldn't be here to enjoy it with you."

"Daddy said you were going to look at dresses with Aunt Mary and Grandma. I wanted to go too," she pouted.

"But did you have fun with me? Even if I am an old bear," Charles asked. He growled, pretending to show bear claws. Sybbie giggled.

"Uh-huh. Can we dance again? _Please?_ "

"To 'Before The Parade Passes By'?" He pretended to think about it. "Oh, I _guess_ so. One more time." He got up and fiddled with the record player. It crackled before Barbra Streisand's voice boomed over the speaker.

"Come on, Aunt Elsie! You too!" She got up from the table and joined them. Charles twirled Sybbie until the drums began. Then they all joined hands and marched around the room. Elsie couldn't stop laughing as Sybbie stomped in rhythm.

"Daddy says this was one of Mommy's favorite songs," she said suddenly as the band began to play.

"Yes, it was," Charles said, turning with her. "She loved this song." He shared a soft glance with Elsie.

"Now you sing!" Sybbie demanded. So they did.

 _When the parade passes by_

 _Listen and hear that brass harmony growing_

 _When the parade passes by_

 _Pardon me if my old spirit is showing_

 _All of those lights over there_

 _Seem to be telling me where I'm going_

 _When the whistles blow_

 _And the cymbals crash_

 _And the sparklers light the sky_

 _I'm gonna raise the roof!_

 _I'm gonna carry on!_

 _Give me an old trombone, give me an old baton!_

 _Before the parade passes by!_

"Wow," gasped Elsie, holding her sides. "I forgot how long she held that note at the end."

"Let's do it again!" cried Sybbie.

"I think we've had enough for today," Charles said, his big hand on her head. "We'll still have time to dance in the morning before your daddy picks you up."

Elsie took the little girl back to the bathroom and gave her a bath while Charles finished cleaning the kitchen. He came back to the guest bedroom in time to see Sybbie before Elsie turned off the light. The guest of honor requested his presence.

"Aunt Elsie and Daddy told me to call you Uncle Charlie now," she said, a serious expression on her face. "But I won't."

"Why not?" he asked, sitting on the side of the bed. "It's my first name. I don't call you _Branson_ ," he touched her nose. She grinned and buried her face in the pillow.

"But you're Uncle _Carson_ ," she said, her voice muffled, sounding exasperated. She rolled over again, sitting up slightly. "And when you and Aunt Elsie get married, you'll be Uncle and Aunt Carson."

"Are you going to call me Aunt Carson then?" Elsie asked, surprised.

" _Yes_ ," Sybbie rolled her eyes.

"But you don't call Uncle Matthew and Aunt Mary Uncle and Aunt Crawley," Charles said, frustrated, his eyebrows in a line.

" _Because_ ," Sybbie huffed, as if she was explaining something quite simple, "they're _married_ , but they're not _together_. Not like _you_. Here," she reached for Charles's hand and pulled it across the bedspread to Elsie's resting hand. They held hands, looking at each other.

" _See_?" Sybbie said. "You're _together_!"

"I still don't understand," Charles said quietly. He leaned over and kissed Sybbie on the head.

"I think I do," Elsie murmured under her breath. She pulled the comforter up and tucked it around the five-year-old. They both said goodnight and left the room, turning the nightlight on and closing the door.

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Charles hummed into Elsie's mouth. He stopped, gasping, resting his chin on her head. "We can't," he whispered. "What if we wake her?" He took a deep breath, willing his body to calm down. It didn't listen.

"How loud are you planning on being, Uncle Carson?" Elsie teased, pulling his head down again. Her fingers dug into the back of his neck and he moaned, his tongue moving over her bottom lip. She pulled at the drawstring of his flannel pants.

"What if she comes in here?" he whispered as they climbed into bed. He tossed Elsie's nightgown over his shoulder. "I don't know how parents _do_ this, with children under the same roof-"

"They do it the same way as before the children came," Elsie breathed, her hands busy as she lay against his chest, feeling him beneath her. "Or so I would assume."

"For the love of God, Els," he hissed through his teeth. "Ah, good _God_ -"

They moved in sync, at a pace well known to them. Elsie tried to remember to keep quiet, but she cried out once before biting her lip. Charles did better, but his gasps and whispered words nearly drove his fiancee out of her mind. Afterward, he grabbed his shirt and shorts and clothed himself, laying back down against her naked back.

"Are you sure you don't want your nightgown?" he rumbled. "Just in case? Be prepared, I say." He ran his hand along her hip.

"I'm fine," she mumbled, sleep overcoming her. "I'm not worried."

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She awoke in pitch darkness, wondering what had startled her. A pale apparition moved in her line of sight, and she almost screamed in terror. Charles still slept beside her, his breaths long in deep slumber.

"Aunt Elsie?" Sniff. The figure shuffled closer. "I-I had a bad dream," a small voice said. "C-can I get in the bed with you?"

Instinctively, Elsie reached for Sybbie, but the air hitting her body reminded her of the moments before sleep.

She was naked under the covers.

 _Oh dear God._

She nudged Charles with her foot, hoping he would wake up quickly and not startle Sybbie.

"Sybbie?" She feigned coming out of sleep. "Is that you?"

Sniff. "Uh-huh. Can I-" her voice wobbled on the edge of a sob. "Can I get into bed with you? I don't wanna go back to my room." Beside Elsie, Charles was awake. He shuffled over his side of the bed. _Thank God her nightgown is on my side of the room._ He stuffed Elsie's nightgown next to her under the covers. She pulled it on, praying she wasn't putting it on backwards.

"Yes, love, you can get in," she said, flipping the covers back. "Quickly now, we don't want you getting cold." The mattress sagged as Sybbie climbed on. Elsie nestled her against her front, laying on her right side. Her back was against Charles. He slipped his left arm back around her.

"I got Paddington with me too," Sybbie sniffed, putting sock-covered feet on Elsie. "He's cold here, can Uncle Carson hold him?"

"I've got him," Charles said, tucking the bear into the crook of his arm. He was still there the next morning when he woke up.

He tucked him back next to Sybbie, who snored in Elsie's arms.

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 **A/N: I meant to give Baxley more attention, around chapter five, but it didn't work then. The venue mentioned in the previous chapter is a real place; it's where Mr. Meetme and I had our wedding reception. If you want to know its real name, PM me and I'll tell you.**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Flashbacks again! I've got the rest of this story pretty mapped out from here to the end of it. There will be around ten more chapters.**

 _June 1990_

Elsie whistled as she got out of her car, twirling her keys. She didn't much care for working on Saturdays, but they were always more casual than during the week. In the parking lot, the only other cars were Mr. Crawley's Mercedes and Mr. Carson's Honda. She smiled to herself. _Mr. Carson must have said something to you. It's a rare thing when you're here on a Saturday._

Walking toward her office, she was startled by a glimpse of someone inside it. She hurried in to find a dark-haired girl rummaging in her desk drawers.

" _What_ are you _doing_ in my office!?" Elsie cried. The girl looked up, her brown eyes defiant. She couldn't have been more than ten years old.

"Looking for a pen." She went right back to searching. "Don't you have anything other than black?" She banged a drawer shut, knocking Becky's picture over. The glass cracked, and with it, Elsie's temper.

"Get out. _Now_ ," she snapped, her voice like ice. It had been a long time since she'd had her temper tested to this extent. And with working with Miss O'Brien, that was saying something. When the girl didn't move, she pulled on her arm, dragging her around the desk. The child resisted, clutching the corner.

"Let _go_!" she shouted. She stomped on Elsie's sandaled foot, making the office manager gasp. "You only _work_ here, my parents own the office! I can take a pen if I _want_ to!"

Seeing red, Elsie seized her by the ear. The girl screamed. Seconds later, two men appeared in the doorway.

"Mary?" Mr. Crawley asked, looking from the child to Elsie in confusion. "Why are you in Mrs. Hughes's office? I told you the pens are in the storage closet!"

"What's going on here?" Mr. Carson, more than a hint of a growl in his voice. Mary wrenched herself out of Elsie's grip and threw herself into his arms.

"I…I was just looking for a pen, Uncle Carson," she said, sniffing. "And she _slapped_ me." Mr. Carson's head snapped up.

"I never did!" gasped Elsie, her color rising. _That little liar!_ "I simply wanted her out of my office!"

"For your sake, I hope you're telling the truth," Mr. Carson thundered, his eyes wide. "Striking a child is an offense I cannot allow."

Elsie gaped at him. _Mr. Carson, taking_ _ **her**_ _side? Where was the professional managing partner?_ She glared at the managing partner. "Of course I'm telling the truth!"

"Now, I'm sure this has all been a misunderstanding," Mr. Crawley said, stepping between them. "Mary, apologize to Mrs. Hughes. You should not be in here."

Mary turned reluctantly to Elsie, Mr. Carson's hands on her shoulders. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hughes," she said without remorse.

"I accept your apology," Elsie said, even though she was highly skeptical the child meant what she said. What else could she do, with her boss glowering at her as if _she_ had done something wrong?

Charles steered Mary back into his office and made sure she was well-supplied with writing utensils and paper. He bent over the brief again, checking for errors, but the letters blurred together.

 _Of course she would pick on Mary, of all people_. He had never seen Mrs. Hughes like that, in a towering rage. It was unnerving. He was glad Robert had stepped in when he did. _He_ wasn't sure he could have held his temper.

"Mrs. Hughes is usually very nice," he said to the child drawing on the other side of his desk. _Until ten minutes ago, I never would have guessed she had trouble keeping her composure._

Mary rolled her eyes. "She's a dragon. A _Scottish_ dragon."

He half-grinned. "Maybe she is. But you know what they say about dragons."

"What?"

"Best to stay out of their lair." He shuffled the brief in front of him.

Mary blew a strand of hair out of her face. "I don't see why. You and Papa run this place. Why can't I get a pen from her office? They aren't _hers_."

"No, but what's in her office is for her to use. Like your desk at school. You don't own it, you're just borrowing it for a while. You wouldn't like it if one of your classmates went looking for a pencil in _your_ desk, would you?"

"No." Mary said quietly. The room was silent for several minutes. "Uncle Carson?"

"Hmmm?" _In regards to the motion to dismiss for forum non conveniens, the following points are invalid…_

"You'll always like me no matter what, right?"

He looked up. "What? Of course! Where did that come from?"

She slid down the chair and hung over the armrest. "Mrs. Hughes didn't slap me," she said in a small voice. "I…I lied."

He leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. _Well, I owe her an apology._ "That was very wrong of you, Mary. _Very_." He scrutinized the girl, who looked at the floor.

"You don't like me anymore, do you?" she whispered.

He sighed, his hands behind his head. "Yes, I still like you. But it's wrong to lie. You know that!" Abruptly, he got up.

"Where are you going?" she asked, her eyes wide.

"I'm going to talk to Mrs. Hughes," he said.

"You're not going to tell her, are you? Papa would make me say sorry _again_!"

He opened the door, gesturing for her to get up. "Yes, I am going to tell her. And you will apologize again." He took a deep breath. "As will I."

Thank goodness Mrs. Hughes listened without comment. Although he thought he detected a glimmer in her eye when Mary apologized for lying. She was calm and shook hands with her at the end.

"She's really not that bad," he said as Mary scurried out the door. The office manager raised her eyebrows. He looked back at her, feeling for once like he'd been caught out. "I know I'm too easy on her, but I am her godfather-"

"And that gives you the excuse to dismiss her every mistake," Mrs. Hughes said evenly. She wasn't angry; if anything, she looked as though she were biting back laughter. He blustered.

"I don't _dismiss every mistake_ -"

"All right, Mr. Carson," she said, turning back to her work. "I'm sure no one at this office would dispute your position as an excellent disciplinarian." A smile quirked at the corner of her lip.

He huffed for a moment. _It won't do any good to argue_. A small part of him still wanted to contradict her, but he also knew she was right. Not that he would admit it. He went to leave her office, but stopped before going out the door.

"Someday, a child is going to find the center of your heart," he said softly. "You will understand then."

 _March 1996_

Cora bustled into Elsie's office, Miss O'Brien right behind, talking loudly.

"You know I've got to finish putting together the reports," she said, barely nodding at the office manager. Behind them, Mr. Carson peeked in and entered as well. Elsie set down her pen. _This may take some time._

"Mrs. Hughes," Cora began, wringing her hands. "You know I would never ask you something like this if I wasn't desperate-"

"And you know I'd do it if I wasn't so busy-" Miss O'Brien interrupted. Cora turned to her, blowing air through her nose.

"Yes, I _know_ , Sarah, you've said. But let me finish. Mrs. Hughes, I'm leaving in a few minutes to pick up the girls. I'm bringing them here. Our nanny is ill, she has a migraine. As you know, my mother-in-law is working on the Richardson will. _My_ mother is out of town. I know this is a professional office, but just this once, I have to make an exception. Mr. Carson has agreed to let our daughters stay here for the rest of the day."

"Then I'm rather confused," Elsie said. She had a feeling she knew where this was going, and she was equally certain that if her instincts were correct, she wouldn't like it. "If Mr. Carson allows it, what do you need from me?"

Cora sighed, her pale blue eyes reflecting guilt and desperation. "Mrs. Hughes, could you watch the girls for the rest of the afternoon?"

 _Exactly what I thought._ She kept her face neutral. "Excuse me, Mrs. Crawley, but aren't they old enough to be at home by themselves for the rest of the afternoon?" She glanced at her clock. 2:30. "Sybil is too young, perhaps, but surely Mary and Edith are old enough to watch themselves and their younger sister for another two-and-a-half hours."

Cora closed her eyes, leaning on her knuckles on Elsie's desk. "I hate to admit it, but leaving my three children at home by themselves is asking for a disaster to happen. Of the three, Sybil would be the least likely to cause trouble. My older girls-" she waved her hands, "-well, it would be a miracle if our house was still intact when Robert and I got home."

"I don't think it's a drastic interruption to have the girls here for the remainder of the day," Mr. Carson broke in. "I told Mrs. Crawley they could sit in the conference room downstairs and do their homework."

"And you want me to look after them," Elsie said, looking at Cora. "Is there no one else?" It wasn't that she didn't like the girls, but surely there was someone else in this office who could watch them without disrupting her afternoon.

"I've asked everyone," Cora said, her eyes wide. "Everyone's busy, all the secretaries and records clerks. Mrs. Patmore nearly tore my head off-"

Elsie resisted the urge to snort. _I'll bet._ "So it's down to me, I see?" she raised her eyebrows only slightly at Mr. Carson, who pleaded with her silently. "Oh, all right. Let me know when you get back, and I'll go work in the conference room." _I must be a sucker for punishment._

Forty-five minutes later, Elsie sat with her head bowed in the conference room, her ears ringing. A dull throb was pulsing over her right eye. She thought ironically that _she_ might have to go home with a migraine before the day was over. Mary and Edith quarreled at the far end of the table, the second-oldest daughter in tears. Sybil sat in the middle, her fingers frozen around her crayon, her mouth open as she gaped at her sisters.

"I am _not_ ugly! No matter what you say!" Edith insisted. "Just because I wear glasses, it does _not_ make me a loser!"

"Keep saying that," her older sister said, her tone equally vicious and bored. "But I can tell you, once you get into high school, no boy's going to want to date you – unless you do their homework for them. I guess you have _that_ going for you."

"Mary, that's enough," Elsie said, pressing two fingers to her temple. "Leave your sister _alone_. And Edith, if I were you, I'd ignore her. Don't you both have homework to do?" Her tone was harsher than it normally was, but the two of them had driven her almost to the breaking point. She raised an eyebrow at the oldest child. She wondered what she would do if the girl some of the staff called 'Lady' Mary crossed the line again.

She reminded herself that corporal punishment was not an option. No matter how tempting the prospect.

The fourteen-year-old with dark brown eyes stared back, as if sizing her up. Then she sniffed before opening her biology textbook. Elsie let out a small breath. _Amazing, how one so young can act so arrogant. I will never know what Mr. Carson sees in her._ Edith dried her eyes and scribbled away in her notebook, her French abandoned. Elsie thought about prompting her to study, but decided she didn't have the energy.

The four sat in relative peace for the next half an hour. Then Sybil looked up, squirming on her chair. "Mrs. Hughes?" she asked in a small voice.

"What?" the office manager asked, distracted from the coffee invoices.

"I have to go to the bathroom."

Elsie sighed and got up. "All right, let's go." She held out her hand to the six-year-old, who took it. She turned and glared at the older girls. "We'll be right back. _Try_ to behave yourselves for five minutes."

She and Sybil walked to the women's restroom, and Elsie stood outside the stall door somewhat awkwardly. Sybil hummed from the inside, and otherwise seemed to be fine. Elsie smiled.

The little girl exited and Elsie steered her to a sink. She had to pick Sybil up, as the rim was too high for her to reach the running water. She dried her hands under the dryer.

"Do you have sisters?" Sybil asked as they left, walking back to the conference room.

"One," she said, surprised. "I have one sister. Her name is Becky."

"How old is she?"

"Eight years younger than me."

Sybil skipped, swinging her arms. "Do you love her?"

 _Where did that come from?_ "Of course I do." Sybil stopped outside of the conference room, looking at the floor.

" _I_ love my sisters. But Mary HATES Edith, and Edith HATES Mary."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Elsie said automatically, even though she privately agreed with the youngest Crawley. Sybil looked up, her expression fierce.

"They do! They fight _all. The. Time._ And Mama and Papa don't do anything." She stuck out her bottom lip, and for a moment Elsie was afraid she would cry. "Mary's nice to me. She taught me how to braid hair. And Edith lets me paint with her brushes." She looked up at Elsie, her eyes big. "Why can't they be nice to each other?"

 _Oh wee lass, if I knew the answer to that question, there would be peace on earth._ Elsie crouched down to Sybil's eye level. "I don't know," she said. A tear worked itself out of the corner of the girl's eye, and Elsie felt a fresh surge of anger. She gently rubbed the tear from Sybil's face. "You know what?" she asked. "The best thing you could do is to keep on being nice to them. And someday, they will learn to be nice to each other. Because _you_ -" she touched Sybil's cheek-"taught them to be nice. That's what the world needs, more people like you." _We can only hope_.

Before she could move or speak again, Sybil threw her arms around her neck. "I love you, Mrs. Hughes," she whispered.

Elsie was taken aback. She couldn't remember another child ever showing such open affection. Not to her. Tears pricked her eyes as she hugged the little girl. Someone cleared their throat.

Mr. Carson leaned against the wall by the conference room. He said nothing, but raised his eyebrows at her before walking back up the stairs.

000000000000000000000000

 **Have I mentioned that I love you all equally? I do.** **This fandom is awesome. Chelsie on!**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: A little M language in this chapter. Someone had a bad day.**

 _August 1990_

She fiddled with the dial, trying to catch the news report. She didn't register driving the rest of the way home until she was in the apartment lot complex. She shut the engine off, but continued listening until the news was over and a commercial began.

 _Sending troops to the Persian Gulf? What is the world coming to?_

She got out of the car and headed up the sidewalk, her mind full of wars and politicians, and stupidity. A horrible end to another trying week. She knew in the grand scheme of things the threat of war superseded office politics and stubborn bosses, but until Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait, she had never heard of the country. She wished she could say the same for Mary Crawley. Mr. Carson had caught her that week saying something less than stellar about the _blessed_ child to Mrs. Patmore, and publicly called her out on it. It opened an old wound again.

When she unlocked the front door the stench of a backlogged toilet hit her full in the face. She forgot everything else.

"Damn!" she cried, throwing her purse onto the couch and running into the bathroom. Water on the floor. _Not_ _ **again**_ _. This place is a broken down piece of-_

The phone rang. Swearing, she splashed out of the bathroom and grabbed it from the wall.

"Hello? Elsie? I had to stay a bit late at work, but I'll be leaving in a few minutes. Meet you at the restaurant?" On an ordinary Friday night, Beryl's voice would be welcome.

"I don't think I can make it," she snapped, stretching the phone cord around the corner, back to the bathroom. "My toilet's backed up again, I need to call maintenance-"

"Again?" Beryl asked, indignation in her voice. "Els, you need to move out of there! The landlord's a lazy arse, maintenance doesn't do their job, and I don't think your upstairs neighbor smokes tobacco, if you know what I mean!"

"Yes, well, I'm working on that. But at the moment-"

"Don't you dare back out of dinner! You'll need a proper drink after the week you've had! Call maintenance, then come meet me. See you there." Beryl hung up.

 _More like the_ _ **summer**_ _I've had._ Elsie huffed for a moment, hung the phone up, then called maintenance. She rolled her eyes when Alan said he'd be over in half an hour. She waited forty-five minutes, then left to meet Beryl, her temper in full force.

"Thank God for half-priced drinks," she said as she finished her fourth-or was it her fifth? Budweiser. "Trying to save for a down payment is no fun. At. All."

"You've done well," Beryl said, nursing her drink. "You've got more discipline than most people."

"Fuck discipline," Elsie growled. "Fuck down payments. And landlords. And shitty plumbing."

"You know that's what it's for, right?" Beryl asked, pretending to be in pain when Elsie elbowed her. They turned when the DJ in the corner started playing the music.

"They have dancing here?" Elsie asked, her voice raised.

"Yeah," Beryl called. "On Friday nights, that's why I wanted to get a table early, they clear part of the room for the dance floor."

"I used to like to dance," Elsie said. "It's all techno now, though, and boy bands who can't sing."

"The good thing about music today, though, is you don't need someone to dance with," Beryl said, knocking back the rest of her drink. "While we're waiting for our food, I might as well have fun." She got up and tilted her head at the growing crowd on the floor. "Want to come?"

Elsie shook her head. "I'll need more liquid courage before I get out there. And motivation. If you see any good-looking men, wave me over." Beryl laughed.

"I'll do that, if there's more than one." She joined the group and within five minutes was dancing with Jos Tufton. Elsie shook her head, mouthing at her friend. _Be careful._

She polished off her drink and ordered another, this time whiskey. She hadn't indulged like this in years, but the circumstances seemed to warrant it.

Ever since she'd had the run-in with Robert Crawley's hellion daughter, the air seemed to be strained with Mr. Carson. Oh, he had apologized. But what she couldn't get over was the way he'd immediately believed that lying child over her. She knew she should let it go, but it stayed under her skin, like an old scab that itched. She sipped the whiskey, relishing the burn in her throat.

She glanced at the dance floor and stood up. She felt more limber, as though the weight of her burdens was finally dissipating. She knew it was most likely the alcohol, but she didn't care. She enjoyed the sensation of dancing again. She twirled toward the middle of the crowd, finding it impossible to move without accidently bumping into others. She was moving in a small corner when someone solid knocked into her, making her fall. She pulled her hair out of her face and took his hand to help her up.

"I'm so sorry," he bellowed over the heavy beat. "I didn't see you-"

She dropped his hand as though it burned her. Of all the places to meet Mr. Carson, in the middle of the dance floor while Janet Jackson's "Escapade" blared was the last place she expected. From his expression, he felt the same.

"I didn't know you danced," she finally yelled after they'd stood frozen for several seconds. How had she worked for him for months without realizing how tall he was? And broad. His black hair carried a few grays, and it was very tempting to reach up and touch it. _Leave it, Elsie. You're drunk. So he's good-looking. He's also your boss._

 _You don't want to lose your job, do you?_

"I don't. Not to this music. I was just looking for an empty table and took a shortcut." The music ended abruptly before he finished speaking, making his usually booming voice even louder.

"Why don't you sit with us?" she asked, glad to speak in a more regular volume. She pointed toward her table. _It wouldn't hurt to be friendly._

He stared at her. She sounded as though she had had a few drinks already. He had never heard her accent so pronounced, or maybe it had always been like that and he never noticed. He did not expect such friendliness from her, not after the way he'd behaved earlier in the summer. "I don't want to disturb your evening," he said, looking desperately around the room for an empty table. He couldn't see one.

"Nonsense, it's just me and Beryl," she lead him to a seat, stumbling against a chair. "Here you go."

He failed miserably keeping his eyesight from lingering on her fitted skirt. He sat down, relieved when a waitress asked him what he wanted to drink. Beryl joined them a few minutes later, red-faced. She blinked rapidly when she saw him sitting there.

"Well, Charlie, this is a surprise!" She punched him on the arm. "I thought you'd rather endure the Black Death before coming here on a Friday night!"

She was already fairly well gone, but he'd seen worse. He shrugged. "I was looking for a change of pace, I guess," He wouldn't admit it, but he had completely forgotten that there was dancing tonight. Otherwise he would have gone to one of his other regular places.

Their food arrived, and the women ate while he drank a lager.

"So, Mr. Carson, what kind of music _do_ you dance to?" The room made him feel warm, or maybe it was the lager. _Definitely the lager_. Not the Scottish accent, and the way she sounded saying his name.

He tapped a finger on his glass. "Swing. Jazz. Frank Sinatra." He looked at the office manager, who raised her eyebrows.

"Really?" She shook her head and laughed, covering her pretty smile with her hand. "You _are_ old-fashioned."

"Oh, don't get him started," Beryl sighed, rolling her eyes at him. "He thinks all music performed after 1950 is Satan's handmaiden."

"Well, what do you call this?" he gestured to the DJ.

"'Nothing Compares 2 U, by Sinead O'Connor,'" Elsie said. "It may not be what you're used to, Mr. Carson, but the world moves on." She drank more of her whiskey.

"That is exactly what I'm afraid of," he said, crossing his arms. For some reason, her words galled him. "Why does everything have to change?" he asked. "Sometimes things are better kept the same."

"And sometimes not," Elsie fired back. "Change can show us where we've lost our way, help us to improve ourselves."

Beryl groaned. "If the two of you are going to have a philosophical discussion, I'll leave you to it." She got up. "You know where to find me." She waltzed over to the bar and started chatting with a man sitting there.

"What do you want to change, Mrs. Hughes?" Charles asked. He gestured for the waitress to bring him another drink.

She slumped back in her chair. "Right now? Where I live. My landlord doesn't fix anything. Besides that…I have a hard time letting go of some things. If I could change anything, that would be it." She swallowed the last of the whiskey, and sipped some water. She was starting to feel drunk, which meant she had long since passed the legal limit.

"Ironic, that someone who likes change can't let go. What can't you let go?" he asked suddenly.

 _Shit. You walked right into that. On the other hand, if you wanted to let him know how you really felt, now's the time._ She was just intoxicated enough to still have her head, and also not to care.

"I don't like how you took Mary's side over mine," she said in a rush, so quickly he had to lean over to hear her. "That day, when she was in my office." She pressed her lips together, an angry gleam in her eyes. "I would _never_ hit a child, even a liar like her! I know she apologized, as did you, but it was very humiliating for you to take the word of a child over mine!"

She immediately felt horror, and wished she still had a drink. _What was that earlier about keeping your job?_

He felt as though she'd slapped him in the face. Guilt stabbed at his heart. During the months since she had become the office manager, he and Robert had learned to trust her implicitly. Nearly all of the attorneys liked her; there had not been a single complaint brought to him about her being unprofessional. The complaints among the staff had dwindled to nothing, which meant she had things well in hand. No small feat for a manager younger than more than half of their current staff. Of course O'Brien didn't like her, but O'Brien would have hated any office manager that wasn't her.

His natural affection for Mary demanded he defend her. Mrs. Hughes didn't understand. Mary was like his daughter, how could he assume the worst in her? _But she was wrong that day. She lied._

 _ **You**_ _were wrong._

"I am very sorry for that," he said haltingly. "I…I was wrong to take her side." She kept her gaze on the table, the flush evident on her face even in the dim light. He tried again. "I trust you, as a professional. I do," he said, as she continued to look skeptical. "My instinct was to defend Mary. She's very dear to me."

"As anyone could see," she said quietly, sipping more water. "I didn't know you were her godfather until that day."

"I was surprised when Robert and Cora asked me, before she was born," he said. "The first time I held her…" he trailed off, his gaze far away.

"She found the center of your heart," she said. He looked up. To her surprise, he was blushing.

"I should not have said that to you, it was patronizing," he mumbled into his lager.

"Yes it was," she said baldly. "But as of now, I don't know how it feels, to care for a child in that way. I can't say I won't feel the same when I've yet to feel it."

They fell silent as Paula Abdul sang in the background. He kept his eyes on his drink, but could think of nothing except the woman across the table. _Surely she'll marry again, have children. Any man would be lucky to have a woman like her._

 _But not someone like you. She's much too independent._

She drank her water until it was gone, and waved off the waitress when she came by. Why did she let him discomfit her? First at her interview, talking about her ex, now admitting her humiliation. She should have simply let it go, and said nothing. _But he apologized. He even had the grace to look guilty. Maybe you were right to say something. It's better to be honest._

Elsie was pulled from her thoughts when she heard Beryl laughing at the bar. She got up and joined her, noticing immediately her friends unfocused expression.

"Don't you think you've had enough?" she asked. _I certainly have. Speaking my mind to the boss. And thinking risqué thoughts. Don't think about the way his shirt is a little tight._

Beryl shook her head. "No," she said, twirling in a circle on her stool. "I'm just getting warmed up!"

"You've had enough," Elsie said firmly. Her friend was going to regret the amount she'd already had, not to mention any more. She grabbed her by the wrist and got her back to the table.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Neither one of us is in any shape to drive home, and-"

"I'll take you to Beryl's, it's no problem," Charles said, getting up. Before she could protest, he went to the bar and paid for all three of their orders. He then helped her get Beryl to his car. While she was helping her friend into the backseat (made more difficult by the high-spirited redhead wanting to dance to the beat of the music inside), he parked both of their cars in a corner of the lot.

The drive was uncomfortable. Elsie had a heightened awareness of his close proximity, and was sure he had lost all respect for her. Before they had driven a mile, Beryl was sick out the window. To Elsie's surprise, the managing partner barely batted an eye. He merely rolled his window down, directed Elsie to do the same with hers, and commented that he had planned on washing his car the next day anyway.

"I'll just be sure to do some extra cleaning," he said. He even had a small smile on his face. "She'll apologize tomorrow, and I'll remind her that she helped sober me up after I passed the bar."

"Oh God," moaned the backseat. "I wish I were dead."

"No you don't," Elsie said, peering behind her seat. She put a hand to her pounding forehead, wincing. " _I_ don't wish I were dead, but I'm going to have a horrible headache tomorrow."

She got Beryl in the house, depositing her in the bathroom. She came back to the living room and found Mr. Carson still standing on the mat outside the front door.

"Thank you," she said, leaning against the door frame. "For driving us." Her face was aflame. "I don't usually drink that much-"

"Please, Mrs. Hughes," he held up his hands. "Don't trouble yourself. We all have bad days and need extra fortification accordingly. I only regret that _I_ have caused some of your frustration. I hope I can spare you that in the future."

Her face felt like it was going to melt off. "Thank you," she repeated, not sure she could say anything else.

"Oh, before I forget," he reached into his wallet. "You said you were looking to move from your apartment? This is the card of a friend of mine. He's a local real estate agent, and is very fair. Give him a call, if you like." He shuffled his feet, looking down for a moment. "Good night, Mrs. Hughes. I'll see you on Monday."

While she never developed the same admiration for Mary as he did, they did manage to avert any major confrontations for the next decade. He never berated her in public again, and could always be counted on as an ally whenever a problem threatened to boil over.

She saw more than thirty properties with the agent before deciding on one. It was in a brand-new development. The view was excellent, and the price was unbeatable.

She lived there for over twenty years.

000000000000000000

 **March 2016**

 _Text from Charles Carson to Elsie Hughes, 5:07 pm_

 _How is it? All well?_

 _Elsie Hughes to Charles Carson, 5:09 pm_

 _Done and done. They have the keys. I don't have a condo anymore, but I do have money…_

 _EH to CC, 5:09 pm_

 _What do you say we forget the big wedding and go to Vegas?_

 _CC to EH, 5:10 pm_

 _Hmm, tempting. But it would be a shame not to have the reception._

 _EH to CC, 5:11 pm_

 _True!_

 _EH to CC, 5:11 pm_

 _I talked to the DJ earlier today. I told him your request._

 _CC to EH, 5:13 pm_

 _I hope he listened. I was completely serious. If he plays The Chicken Dance, I'm leaving immediately. You'll find me at the hotel, watching "Law and Order". Da dunk._

 _EH to CC, 5:14 pm_

 _LOL, yes, he listened. No Chicken Dance, Hokey Pokey, or Macarena. MAYBE It's Raining Men. If Thomas begs. Or Beryl._

They met for dinner to celebrate the sale of the condo at a local, favorite pizza restaurant. Charles sipped from his white wine. "Thank you for indulging me. It may seem silly, but the dollar dance is a fun custom. And the money won't be for us, remember. It was your brilliant idea to have it donated to Becky's home."

"I don't mind that much," Elsie protested. She picked at the remains of her salad. "I do like to dance." She grinned at him as their waiter brought their pizza. "But I do want to stick to the plan, and leave by 9:30. I don't want to be too…tired."

He put on his most innocent face. "Why, Mrs. Hughes, whatever could you mean by that? Is there some aspect of marriage that you're insinuating may require physical activity?" She dissolved into giggles.

"Yes, I think you've got it now," she hiccupped, taking a sip of water. He laughed, placing a slice of pizza on her plate. They ate, occasionally breaking into laughter.

"The waiter must think we've gone batty," Charles said, holding his napkin by his mouth. "Look at us, laughing like hyenas-"

She choked again and wiped tears from her eyes. "It's just happiness, you know. Giddiness. Bubbling over," she reached across the table and slid her hand into his waiting one.

"Mmmm. That must be why my tummy feels like I've swallowed butterflies instead of pizza and salad." He squeezed her hand. "I'm so glad you sold the condo. Now we can start looking for a house together."

"I'd like to wait until after the wedding. Just concentrate on that," she said. "I just finished going through a move, I wouldn't mind waiting a few months."

"I suppose so," he said as the waiter brought their check. "My house will do for the time being. But I do want us to have a proper home, a place that we _both_ choose. And we need a place with an extra bedroom too, so we can have Becky spend the night."

"I can't tell you how much it means to me, that you care for her so," she said softly.

"I do, very much so," he said as they got up to leave. "I never had a sister before. I want her to be happy." They walked out to the car, the rain having ended. He started the car and they headed home.

"It's strange," she said, smiling. "It's because of you I bought the condo in the first place, and it's because of you that I sold it!" She reached over and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Are you saying it's all my fault?" he laughed. "I take full credit then." She kissed him on the cheek.

"Yes, it is your fault, and I couldn't be more delighted."

"I'm surprised that you haven't asked about the honeymoon," he joked as they pulled into the driveway. She blew air out through her mouth.

"Pffffffftttt. After the first five times I asked, and you kept refusing to tell me anything, I figured why bother?"

"Surely you're curious as to where we're going," he said, tossing his keys onto the kitchen counter. "Don't you want a hint?" She turned, her eyes wide.

"You _want_ to tell me! After you going on and on about it being a surprise, now you're offering to tell me?" She moved to sit down on the couch, but he caught her hand and pulled her closer.

"I'm not going to tell you," he murmured, leaving feather-light kisses on her forehead. "I said I'd give you a hint. IF you want one."

"Yes, I would like a hint," she said, rubbing his back. "Beryl keeps saying things about sunscreen and bikinis. She doesn't know where we're going, does she?" She pulled back, looking up at him.

"No one knows, certainly not Beryl Mason," he said seriously, before leaving a long kiss on her lips. "A friend of a friend gave me the idea. I hope you like it."

"Now I _do_ want a hint," she growled. "Are we going someplace warm? I know by the end of next month, the weather will be fairly pleasant here. I assume we're not staying here," she said, a question in her eyes.

"No," he said. "You know our wedding night will be spent at the most luxurious hotel in the city. We will also spend the next night there, before leaving the following morning. An airplane ride will be required."

"Charles Carson, where are you taking me?" His expression was inscrutable. She abandoned all pretense. "Mexico? Hawaii? Majorca? Fiji?" His body vibrated as he started to laugh.

" _Fiji_!? Does that sound like us?" He gave her a hug.

"No," she admitted, laughing. "Although I would be happy with almost anywhere, as long as I was with you."

"That's sweet of you," he said. "I knew you'd like Orlando!"

There was a sudden silence.

" _Orlando-_ "

"I'm not serious, we're not going there!" he said quickly at the look on her face. She relaxed and patted his face.

"Good. But don't joke about things like that," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Or I might have to go bridezilla on you."

"We can't have that," he said, slowly moving his hands over her back and around her waist. She hummed into his mouth in reply.

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 **A/N: Blame deeedeee for the delay. I had half of this chapter written, then she asked for a fuller explanation of the whole Charles/Elsie/Mary being a brat story. So along came another flashback. Sigh. I love you all, but I'm beginning to think people give me ideas so this story will never end! And CERTAIN PICTURES on Tumblr destroyed any semblance of writing yesterday. Not that I'm complaining…**

 **Oh, and the Chicken Dance/hotel/Law and Order comment was literally said by Mr. Meetme before we got married. The DJ was very understanding. :)**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: A little M section at the end. After this, the wedding day!**

 **Unless someone gives me another idea…**

 **April 2016**

"I can't begin to tell you how much I've enjoyed the evening," Dickie said, shaking Charles's hand with enthusiasm. "And I do appreciate that you've invited me to the big event next week. I know you and Elsie wanted it to be more intimate."

"Of course you were always going to be invited," Charles responded, "We've known each other since law school." He leaned back against the red-cushioned chair.

He had had no thought of a stag night. So when Robert and John whisked him away after work on a Thursday evening, he had been very worried about what they had planned. In retrospect, he had no need to worry. If Robert alone had planned it, there would have been cause for it; but John had a better handle on what he liked, and what was appropriate. An evening at a four-star Italian restaurant with old friends suited him.

He was also deeply grateful to John for leaving his last Friday before marriage open. The following Friday would be the night before the wedding, thus rendering the weekly ritual at Pedro's impossible. Not seeing Elsie until the wedding was one of the few details he had insisted on.

He smiled as Dickie leaned over, arguing about gambling websites with Carter Phelps. Robert roared with laughter with Judge Garrett and Frank Julian at the end of the table. John moved over to sit in the chair on Charles's other side.

"You all right?" he asked. "Would you like more wine?"

"Since you're the designated driver, certainly," Charles pushed his glass toward him. "Is it normal to be thinking about the bride tonight? I know these types of evenings are used for the purpose of letting the groom have a last "boys' night out", as it were, but I can't stop thinking about her." He sipped his wine, feeling embarrassed. "You probably think I'm an old fool."

"Not an old fool," John said, a wide smile on his face. "Just a man in love. I'd be worried if you had forgotten about the bride this evening."

"Never," Charles declared firmly. John held up his water glass.

"To the women we love," he said. Charles clinked it with his wine.

"To the women we love," he repeated. _Nine days to go…_

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"Really, Charles, you don't have to hold my hand. I'm perfectly capable of handling the Palmer deposition while you're gone. I may be an old lady, but I've been an attorney since you were a schoolboy." Violet looked over her glasses at him from the other side of his desk. He had to concentrate to maintain eye contact. When she looked at him like that, he _felt_ like a schoolboy. He put his hands on his desk.

"I just wanted to go over the details-"

"Which you did. Admirably." She removed her glasses and set the file in her briefcase. "Promise me while you're away on your honeymoon you won't _think_ about work. I spoke with Miss Baxter, and she informed me that she plans on monitoring your email. And she will know if you check. So try to spare her, and refrain from doing so. I should hope you'd be able to keep away from work on such a momentous occasion."

 _With Elsie? Work will be the last thing on my mind,_ is what he wanted to say. Instead, he folded his hands.

"I promise, I won't even check my email."

"Good," she said, her eyes soft. "Charles, I've known you for over forty years. You're positively effervescent with joy. I can't tell you how pleased I am about your marriage."

"Thank you," he said, feeling a lump in his throat. "Elsie and I are both thrilled." There was a soft knock on the open door.

"Ah," said Violet, getting to her feet. "The lady herself. Good evening, Mrs. Hughes."

"I hope I'm not interrupting," Elsie said, looking between them. "It's five o'clock, Mr. Carson, are you ready to leave?"

"Oh heavens, call him Charles. Or better yet, Charlie," Violet said, sweeping past Elsie into the hall. "No one here will think you unprofessional." Elsie looked back at the managing partner. From the look on his face, he disagreed.

"Perhaps she's right. I should start calling you Charlie," Elsie teased, leaning against a bookcase. He harrumphed, gathering his bag.

"It's not that I mind at home. Just what if everyone else here started calling me that?" he asked as they went down the stairs behind Robert and Violet.

"No one else will," she said confidently. "Can you imagine Phyllis Baxter calling you Charlie? Because I cannot." They exited into the main lobby. Charles bumped into Robert's back.

"Excuse me-" he looked up to see why both his partner and his mother were stopped. Instantly, a sound very like a growl came out of his mouth. Elsie clamped a hand on his arm.

Richard Carlisle, looking like a deer in headlights, had just come from the elevator. He shifted his weight, obviously wanting to leave the building, but he seemed unable to.

Violet broke the awkward silence. "Well, Mr. Carlisle, we haven't seen much of you lately. I heard Steven Russell threw you out of Haxby. Is it true?"

"No, Mrs. Crawley, he didn't _throw me out_ ," the tall man said, his eyes darting from her to Elsie. He then focused on a spot somewhere on the opposite wall. "Not physically. But it is true, my time at Haxby is ended. I doubt we'll meet again."

"Do you promise?" Violet asked. Robert coughed, and Elsie looked down, biting her lip in amusement. Richard simply nodded at Charles, whose fists were still clenched, and walked out.

"Well," Robert said, turning to the couple behind him, "It seems that is the end to that business. Cora and I spoke with Pete Halton yesterday, and he told us that Steven sacked Richard earlier this week. It seems he had received information that Carlisle, with the help of a staff member, was bilking several of their clients. It would not surprise me that anyone involved will be charged at the very least, and will probably have a lawsuit brought against them. Who gave Pete the information, though, I haven't the slightest idea. It seemed to come as a surprise to him and Steven."

"We're simply happy to be able to move on," Charles said, relaxing slightly. They exited the building and said their goodbyes. Charles and Elsie walked across the street into Pedro's. Tara had their seats saved at the bar.

"Hello, you two lovebirds!" she said as they sat down. "What can I get for you? The drinks are on the house tonight, since you won't be in next week – or the week after, Alfred told me."

"That's kind of you, thank you!" Elsie said. "I'll have a Goose Island pale ale."

"What did Alfred tell you?" Charles asked. "Just an O'Doul's for me, please."

"A non-alcoholic beer? What's wrong, Mr. Carson?" Tara asked, setting Elsie's drink down.

"Nothing," he said defensively. "I just don't feel like something strong tonight."

"Robert and John took him out last night with friends," Elsie explained cheerily. "I think he had a wee bit too much wine." Charles winced as she took a drink and set the glass down with a thump. Tara laughed.

"Oh well, at least they were smart and celebrated with you this week instead of next," she said. "I can't tell you how many guys I know who party the night before their weddings, then can barely function on the big day." She set down Charles's drink. "Alfred told me you're getting married a week from tomorrow, and going on your honeymoon right after."

"That's right," Elsie said. They chatted for a few minutes about the wedding details, then about Tara's daughter, who was in remission from leukemia. After fifteen minutes, though, the place filled up and the young bartender was busy with other customers. Charles was glad, even though he liked Tara.

"Here's to Mr. Gregson," he said in an undertone. He and Elsie drank a toast to Edith's husband. Elsie choked back a laugh.

"I must remember to thank him at our reception," she said, laughing. "I wasn't worried about Edna, but I could never be sure Richard wouldn't try to make mischief again in the future."

Charles squeezed her hand. "We can look forward to our life together, without hindrances."

"Oh?" Elsie asked, leaning her elbow on the bar. "You speak as though we'll never have problems."

"You know that's not what I mean," he said. He shifted slightly to let someone lean in and order a drink. "Any challenges we'll face, we'll face them head on. But it's nice to know there won't be some nefarious outside influence trying to spoil our happiness."

She smiled. "True. I love thinking that the next time we come here on a Friday, we'll be married." His stomach flipped at her expression. "What say we drink to that, eh?"

"I say, what a wonderful idea." _She is so lovely, and she is going to be my wife._

For all he cared, Pedro's may well have been empty.

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She hummed as she drained the sink. As she hung the towel up, he wrapped an arm around her waist from behind. With his other hand, he lightly tugged at the top of her blouse, along her collarbone.

"Elsie," he whispered as his soft lips found the spot behind her ear. He trailed a line down her neck to her shoulder. "My darling, come to bed."

She caressed the back of his neck as he continued his attention. "I'm not in a hurry," she managed to gasp. "After tonight, there's none of this until next Saturday." _Why did I agree to that? I don't think I can last that long._

"Maybe we can leave the reception earlier," he murmured, his hands gently massaging her breasts. She moaned. "Maybe no one will notice."

Turning in his arms, she wound her fingers over his broad shoulders. "You know we can't do that." They kissed, their breathing becoming ever more ragged.

"Bed," he finally huffed into her hair.

A distressingly short time later, she lay against his chest, feeling his heartbeat. He rubbed her bare back.

"What was that about not being in a hurry?" he asked, a wry grin curving his lips. "You were in more of a hurry than _I_ was, love."

"Mmmmmm," she kissed his chest, open-mouthed. "You started it at dinner, running your foot along my leg. Then after, you backed against me when I was washing up."

He let out a long breath and put his hands behind his head. "Are you saying I was deliberately turning you on?"

"Charlie," she whispered, emphasizing the r, "When you do it on purpose, do you have any idea how hard it is to resist you? Sometimes you turn me on just when you speak."

 _Likewise_. He took a shallow breath, regretting the decision they'd made. "I don't mean to," he swallowed. He shifted on the bed, trying to move her off of him. She refused to let him do so, instead pinning his hands against the pillow and straddling him, sitting up. She gasped as she felt his manhood against her behind.

"Love," he protested. "We decided after tonight, no-"

She clamped a hand over his mouth, slipping her index finger through his lips. He bit it gently, making her gasp. "It's-" she squinted at the clock, "-11:38. We have until midnight, and I am going to enjoy every-" _Kiss._ "single-" _Kiss._ "minute until then." As she spoke, she moved slowly over him. He moaned aloud. Her fingers found his hot skin, and she sank onto him, relishing the feel of him inside her. He grabbed her hips and moved her back and forth, gradually faster until they found their rhythm.

She rocked against him, feeling the delicious sensation of chasing perfection. "Faster, love," she panted. "F-faster- _y-yes,_ yes, don't stop-"

He bellowed his release, and she reached hers moments later. She keened, her body moving of its own accord, as the vibrations pulsed through them. Gradually, like waves growing ever smaller, they decreased and she lay against him again, breathing hard.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you." He raised her hand from his chest and kissed her ring finger. "The next time we are like this," he gasped, "You will have another ring on this finger. And that ring will find its mate, here."

He extended his fingers so that they were palm to palm. She leaned on her elbow, a tender expression on her face.

"The only mate I have ever wanted, or could ever want."


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: I own nothing, but I sure do love these characters.**

 **30 April 2016**

He woke naturally, without an alarm. He lay quiet for a moment, taking in the dim light of the room beneath the sheet. He reached to his left.

She wasn't there.

And then his eyes popped open, and he remembered what day it was.

 _I'm getting married._ _ **We're**_ _getting married today._

 _After today, she'll always be within reach when I wake._

He threw off the sheet, blinking in the early light. Sitting up, he bunched up the pillows behind him. The clock showed 7:07. _Less than nine hours before I can see her_. He felt tears come and he let them fall. Memories of her, of his Elsie, floated through his mind. Her steady presence in the next office. Arguing, persuading, moving him forward when he was more inclined to cling to the past. Endless Fridays at Pedro's. Coming apart, then coming together again. Health scares. She brought his winter coat to him when he was at the conference, he wore pink ties in her honor. Asking her on a date.

Older images of his life before, of days blurred together in work, law school and university, the various jobs, all swirled together. Going to his grandparents' small house after school. Watching them dance to "A Nightingale Sang In Berkeley Square".

 _When dawn came stealing up all golden blue_

 _To interrupt our rendezvous_

 _I still remember how you smiled and said,_

' _Was that a dream or was it true?'_

His father, home from work, holding his fingers over his lips. Asking his four year old son to help him with an anniversary gift. Walking with Dad hand in hand (how tall he was in his memory!) into the kitchen. Dad surprising Mother with roses.

Somehow, he knew they would be watching. _Mum, you'll have the best view to watch your boy get married._

He wiped his eyes on the sheet and smiled. He liked the tradition started by his grandfather, and the fact that he would get to continue it, was something he never thought he would get to do. Dad would approve.

A sound from outside the bedroom door brought him back to the present. He grinned at the picture of Matthew and George on the bedside table. At first, he had been hesitant when Mary asked if he wanted to stay in the guest room the night before the wedding, but he was glad he'd accepted. Staying at the house alone for another night was not preferable.

He heard the scuffle of feet, then a loud knock. His smile broadened. George's voice came through the door.

"Mr. Carson? Are you awake? Mama's making pancakes!"

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She rolled over, half in slumber still. She clutched the extra pillow in her arms, wishing it was him instead. _Silly girl. He'll be there tomorrow. And the next day, and the day after, and the day after that…_

 _After today, I'll wake up next to my husband._

She flopped onto her back, a brilliant smile on her face. She watched the early light dance on the ceiling. It looked like how she felt.

In a way, she was happy that she'd accepted Beryl's offer to stay on the farm since Wednesday. For one thing, it made it that much easier to avoid temptation with Charlie. At least for a few days.

But this morning, it reminded her of the farm long ago, in Scotland. She had been born there. _Have I ever told him that story? I must._ She smiled, remembering birthdays when Da would recount the tale. How he came in from the fields after a long day. How Mam woke him in the middle of the night. How he rang for the doctor. How she was born into his waiting hands in the bedroom before the doctor arrived.

She thought of Becky, of going with Da to the hospital to see Mam and her new sister. Leaving the farm, home, everything they knew. A new country, a new school, a new life. Mam and Da, gone too soon. Being young, foolish, thinking she knew what love was. Caring for her sister as best she could. Odd jobs, hard work, night school. Her first full job after graduation, as a receptionist at a law firm.

An interview that changed everything. _He_ changed everything. He was so stubborn, so set in his ways when they met! She was equally certain she knew the right course to take. How they quarreled, learned, fell out, made up. Scars on his chest and her breast. Him walking on a summer's day in a suit, supporting her. Him kissing her on a winter's night in front of the fountain. How strangers became colleagues, colleagues became friends, friends became inseparable. Her Charlie. Her best friend, her lover, and today, her husband.

 _We grew together. Is there any way I can tell him how much he means to me?_

She was delighted that Becky would be there, would be a witness. It felt bittersweet, thinking of Mam and Da. _They would have loved him as a son._ She smiled, pulling the sheet up to her chin. They would approve of her gift for him, she was sure.

There was a soft knock on the door. "Elsie? Are you awake?"

"Yes," she called, sitting up. Bill opened the door and Beryl appeared, holding a tray. Elsie laughed.

"Breakfast in bed! That's very sweet of you, I should get married more often," she said, her eyes sparkling. Beryl set the tray down and stood back, her hands on her hips.

"Did you sleep well? You look like you did."

"I did indeed," she said, surveying the tray. "My goodness, how much do you think I'll eat?" she gasped. "Yogurt, fruit, porridge, an egg, bacon, sausage, tomatoes, mushrooms, baked beans, toast, _and_ tea! Tattie scone and black pudding!" She squealed. "Beryl, you're an angel!"

"She's been planning this ever since you said you'd stay here," Bill said.

"I won't be able to fit into my dress!"

"Yes, you will. We'll have something light this afternoon, just to tide you over. So eat your breakfast now, and don't worry about it!" Beryl said, laughing.

"Oh, Elsie, this is for you as well," Bill placed a vase of exquisite pink roses on the table. The bride sighed in admiration.

"Those are perfectly lovely," she said quietly. "But really, it's too much. You've already let me stay here, made me breakfast-"

"Wait a minute, lass," Bill interrupted. He handed her a card. "As much as we'd love to take credit for them, these aren't from us." He and Beryl left the room, shutting the door behind them.

Her heart pounded, and she felt a lump in her throat at the familiar handwriting. She tore open the envelope and read the note with shaking hands.

 _My beautiful darling,_

 _Good morning! I hope you slept well. I'm glad you have been staying with Beryl and Bill, even though I miss you. I was glad to hear during the rehearsal that you miss me, too._

 _I cannot begin to tell you how much you mean to me. You are the joy of my life, and I am deeply grateful to God that this day has finally come._

 _The roses are an old Carson tradition. My grandfather always bought them for my grandmother for their anniversary. My father bought them for Mother for the same occasion, as well as for Christmas._

 _Today, Mrs. Carson, they are one of my gifts for you._

 _My beloved, I will wait for you at the church with a full heart._

 _I love you._

 _Always, your Charlie_

Beryl must have been listening outside in the hall. She came back in the room less than a minute later with a Kleenex box. Elsie hastily dried her eyes on her napkin, but her friend handed her a tissue and sat down on the bed.

"What did he say? He sent you roses, so I assume you're not crying because he wants to call it off."

"No," Elsie laughed through her tears. Beryl reached for the card.

"Can I read it?" Elsie nodded. She read it, holding a hand over her heart. "Oh my…" her chin quivered as she struggled to hold back her own tears. "Who would have thought Charlie Carson was sentimental?"

"Me," Elsie said. "It was always there, but he says he never had the chance to show it before."

"Well," Beryl whispered, wiping her eyes. She grabbed another tissue. "That teaches me a lesson – I gave him a hard time yesterday, saying he didn't deserve you!"

"What did he say?"

"He said he would spend the rest of his life trying to deserve you," Beryl said quietly. "After reading that note, well, _I_ say he deserves you." She leaned over and kissed Elsie on the cheek. "I couldn't have let you go to anyone _less_ worthy."

Elsie choked and hugged her friend. Then she laughed as she began to cry again. "All these tears! You'd think it was my funeral!"

"Better to cry now, then later after you're dressed and made up," Beryl said, pulling out more tissues. "But really, try to stop crying now, your breakfast will get cold! I'll leave you to it, then," she got up from the bed.

"No, please stay," Elsie begged. "I'll never be able to eat all of this. Get another cup. There's plenty of tea."

"All right. Anything to please you today!" Beryl said. She went to the kitchen and returned with another teacup and an extra scone. They spent the next hour enjoying a leisurely breakfast.

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Charles looked over the rim of his coffee cup with amusement. George was swirling his fork in the dregs of his syrup. "Should you be doing that, young man?"

The boy half-glanced over his shoulder at his mother, then dropped the instrument with a clatter. "Can I have some more pancakes?" he asked Mary.

" _May_ I. And no, I think you've had quite enough," she said evenly. She shared a smile with Charles. "I don't want you making yourself ill. I'm glad you cleaned your plate, but I think it will be several years before you can eat as much as Carson."

"But-"

"No, Georgie." She said, her voice firm. She ruffled his hair. "Why don't you go outside and play, darling? Donk and Uncle John will be here soon."

"I'd better take a shower," Charles got up from the table. Mary picked up his plate.

"Did you have enough? I can make more eggs if you like." He held up a hand.

"No, thank you. It was all delicious." His eyes twinkled. "Whoever taught you how to poach eggs did an excellent job."

"I learned from the best," she said, smiling and clearing the rest of the table. "If it weren't for him, I would have starved the first year away from home, or else lived on takeaway."

He headed to the bathroom off of the guest bedroom, and took a long shower. When he emerged, he dressed in his casual clothes; there would be no need to put on his tuxedo until later in the afternoon. He found Robert and John in the backyard with Mary and George. Robert was playing fetch with Horus.

"There's the man of the hour!" John said as Charles closed the sliding door. Robert approached him, shaking his hand warmly.

"Good morning, Carson! How are you feeling on your wedding day? The weather's cooperating, there's a point in your favor!"

"I'm very well," Charles said, squinting into the sun. "Though I think I'll be better later this afternoon after I see her." It was unnerving not to have any communication with Elsie. No calls, no texts, nothing. His stomach fluttered.

"That's normal, it's just pre-wedding nerves," John said as if he knew what Charles was feeling. "It was your idea not to see the bride before the ceremony."

"I know," Charles replied. He watched George chase the dog. "It's only now occurring to me there are disadvantages of getting married in the late afternoon."

Robert and John laughed. Robert slapped him on the back. "It's the last few hours of your bachelor life. We'll do our best to keep you distracted until then. If we don't, we're not doing our jobs well."

According to the pre-arranged plan, the men took him to Robert's house, where they found Tom in the garage, its door up.

"Hello, Mr. Carson!" he said, waving him over. "Take a look, what do you think? Kieran just dropped it off!" His eyes gleamed at the machine in front of him.

"Carson," stammered Robert, "forgive me, but I think your bride may have competition today."

"A 1931 Austin Seven Swallow saloon," murmured John, his eyes glazing over. "Tom, where did your brother _find_ this?"

"A collector who lives about an hour from here. When Mr. Carson asked for something like it, Kieran called him. He was happy to lend it out for the day," Tom grinned. "But when he heard it was to be used for a wedding, his only caveat was that he wanted to have pictures of the bride and groom inside."

"I don't mind. It's…it's so much better than I hoped," Charles said, his voice trailing off. "My only regret is that I won't get to drive it myself."

"That's your loss, but at the end of the day I think you'll have more to look forward to," Tom said, his arms crossed. They stood staring at the car from every angle, admiring it in silence.

"Once you're all finished drooling over an inanimate object," a voice said behind them, "come into the house." Edith bit her lip, grinning. "Carson, I hope you look at your bride with as much adoration."

He turned. "I don't think that will be a problem."

"It had better not be," she said, swinging her car keys. "Tom, Papa, I'm going home now. See you later, at the church?"

"We'll be there." Tom said. Reluctantly, Charles went into the house.

Inside, Cora was busy finishing the boutonnieres. "Carson!" she exclaimed when he walked in. "Hello! I see you've been admiring the other beauty in our garage."

"I have," he said. He bent over the table, admiring the small flowers. "These are lovely, thank you for putting these together."

"You're welcome. I feel lucky my mother-in-law let me help with something," she said ruefully, shaking her head. "Now," she clapped her hands, "there's a cold platter in the fridge for later, if you're hungry. Robert," she said to her husband, "I'm going upstairs to get ready, then I'll go get George and bring him over here."

"Maybe Tom can let him ride in the car over to the church? I think he'd like that," Robert said, leaning on the handrail on the stairs. " _I'd_ like that, to be honest."

Cora laughed. "I'm sure you would! Matthew is so upset he missed it."

"My wedding, or the car?" Charles couldn't help asking. She smiled at him.

"Both, but your wedding comes first, I'm sure," she said. She kissed her husband fondly before going up the stairs.

"Before I forget, this is for you," Robert picked up a small wrapped box from the counter and handed it to Charles. He looked at the box in confusion.

"Thank you, you shouldn't have."

"It's not from him," John said. He handed Charles a small envelope. "He's just the messenger."

Charles leaned against the island in the kitchen and opened the note. His heart skipped when he saw her handwriting.

 _My love,_

 _I hope you are having a good day so far and that your supporters are keeping you out of trouble._ _The company of my friends is very much appreciated, but I miss my_ _best_ _friend._

 _Charlie, you mean everything to me. You were the missing link in my life, and I am so glad that we found each other. You were worth the wait._

 _Enclosed in the box is a gift for you, a small token for the day. They once belonged to my father. Now they are yours, my husband._

 _I will see you at the church soon. I love you._

 _Forever yours,_

 _Elsie_

He opened the box with trembling fingers. Inside was a pair of sterling silver cufflinks.

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The room swirled with activity around her. In a small way, she was glad of the noise. Her insides were fluttering, as if she had swallowed a beehive. She sat obediently in a chair, an old shirt covering her neck and chest as Edith bent over her, touching up her eye shadow.

"Almost done, Mrs. Hughes. You're doing splendidly." Behind her, she could hear Poppy, George and Sybbie giggling. Anna came in and shut the door quickly.

"She'll be back in just a minute," she said to Elsie. "Edith and I will take the children out so you can have a minute alone."

"Thank you," Elsie said. "And thank _you_ ," she smiled at the middle Crawley daughter. "Normally, I would do it myself, but you offered, and now I'm glad I let you do my make-up!"

"You're quite welcome," Edith gathered the materials together, then took Marigold's hand. "Let's go out to the hall, shall we? Sybbie! George! Come with me, please." She and Anna ushered them out and the room was quiet. Elsie took a deep breath.

She wasn't nervous, not exactly. She had never liked being the center of attention. _Remember, you won't be alone at the front of the church_. She bent her head, smiling at her shoes, feeling the coin inside. The door opened, and Beryl poked her head in.

"Melissa and I will stay out here while you talk to her," she said. She turned, gently leading Becky into the room. Elsie's breath caught in her throat when she saw her younger sister.

"Oh lass," she sighed, taking her hands. "Look at you! You're beautiful! Did Melissa help you get ready?"

"Yes," Becky said, pulling on her blue dress. It matched her eyes perfectly. "Essie, you are so pretty!"

"As are you. Thank you," Elsie whispered. She gave her sister a long hug. Not for the first time, she was thankful Edith had applied waterproof mascara. They stood together, looking in the full-length mirror, admiring their reflections. Becky pointed to her diamond drop earrings.

"I like those."

"Mmmm," Elsie agreed. "They were a gift from Charlie. They belonged to his mother." She held up her wrist, gesturing to the bracelet. "Do you remember this? It belonged to Mam," she said, watching Becky's expression. Her sister broke into a smile.

"Mama's pretty!" Elsie laughed, kissing Becky on the cheek.

"Yes, you _do_ remember," she said, touching the delicate chain. The door opened again. Beryl, Anna, Daisy, and Becky's favorite nurse from her home, Melissa came in.

"Elsie, you look beautiful," the younger woman smiled. "If you don't mind, I'll escort Miss Becky into church now."

"Of course, thank you," Elsie said. She touched Becky's forehead with her own. "I love you, Becky. I will see you in a bit." Melissa took her sister's elbow and lead her out of the room.

Beryl stood trying not to cry. "You are a vision, you know that? Charlie's going to faint when he sees you!"

"I hope not," Anna laughed, dabbing at her own tears. She caught Daisy shaking her head. "Oh go on, laugh at me all you like. I'm pregnant, I cry all the time."

"Well if being pregnant makes you cry, then I must be too," Beryl said, grabbing another tissue. "I know Daisy's not, she's managed to keep from melting into the floor so far."

Daisy snorted, rolling her eyes. "Of course I'm not pregnant. We use _protection_."

There was a long pause, then Elsie burst out laughing. "Oh thank heaven, girl! You picked the right moment for that!" She bent over, leaning against Anna, while they both howled with laughter. Beryl still stood frozen, her mouth in a round O.

Tom opened the door. "It's almost time. Ready?"

Elsie and Anna caught their breath, and Anna did a last-second check of the bride's hair. "You look beautiful," she said fondly, kissing the older woman on the cheek. Daisy gave her arm a squeeze before vanishing out the door. Beryl took her hand.

"Well, I'll be having words with that fool girl later. _And_ Andrew," she said as Elsie bit her lip. "But for now, this is your day, you and Charlie's. God bless you both." She opened the door to let Elsie pass through.

The bride stood in the hallway, out of sight of the congregation. She took Tom's arm. He winked at her. "There are only two things you need to remember," he said as they watched the children process into the church. Thomas and Jimmy stood at the doors to the sanctuary, sending them in. "Keep breathing, and don't look anywhere but right in front of you. The only person that matters now is your groom."

"Thank you, Tom." She walked forward with him until they stood behind the closed doors.

 _In a moment, I will see him._

 **A/N: This chapter would have been posted hours ago, except I kept having to pick myself off of the floor. The feels are killing me.**

 **I'll get the wedding ceremony to you as quick as I can. I love you all, thank you for the reviews!**


	25. Chapter 25

_The bride stood in the hallway, out of sight of the congregation. She took Tom's arm. He winked at her. "There are only two things you need to remember," he said as they watched the children process into the church. Thomas and Jimmy stood at the doors to the sanctuary, sending them in. "Keep breathing, and don't look anywhere but right in front of you. The only person that matters now is your groom."_

" _Thank you, Tom." She walked forward with him until they stood behind the closed doors._

 _ **In a moment, I will see him.**_

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Elsie bit her lip, nervously shuffling her feet. Her stomach flipped over. _Why haven't they opened the doors yet?_ She couldn't hear the pipe organ, or any other sound.

Suddenly, the distinctive sound of the church bell rang over their heads. She and Tom looked up, then to their left, where a smiling deacon was ringing the bell.

"It'll just be a moment now," whispered Thomas to her left. She and Tom backed away a few feet as the two men stood waiting, tense at the doors. The organ came to life. She caught a flash of Jimmy smiling before the doors opened.

A wall of people rose en masse and turned to look at her, but she saw none of them. Her eyes were trained on the tall, silver-haired man at the end of the aisle.

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As the prelude music continued, Charles smiled and nodded as the guests filed in. He gave a warm smile to Becky, blowing a kiss to her as she sat in the front pew. She blew one back to him. Then the music changed slightly, and he faced the front. Robert gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. John couldn't resist, and looked back, but the children had already come in and were sitting quietly. The bell rang.

He concentrated on the cross on the altar, appreciating the late afternoon sun coming through the stained glass windows, bathing everything in a warm glow. _Isn't it time yet?_ He felt as though he'd been standing there for hours already. He glanced at Reverend Travis. The kind woman gave him a reassuring smile before her attention was caught by the music. Charles stiffened his back into a ramrod position.

The familiar strain of Bach's "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring" floated through the room. Brandon Lee, Gwen's husband, accompanied the organist on the trumpet. The entire congregation moved, and Charles could hear both the sounds of people standing, as well as more than one gasp in awe. His fingers twitched. Finally, he turned.

His bride seemed to float down the aisle. Her hand was firmly placed in the crook of Tom's elbow, but her bright blue eyes rested on him alone. He felt his chin quivering, and fought to keep from weeping. He wanted to remember what she looked like.

Her champagne-colored dress was covered with delicate designs. The half-sleeves were sheer, but held more patterns. The view of her décolletage was narrow, ending at a point just above her cleavage. It provided enough space for her borrowed necklace to shine. Her earrings reflected the afternoon sun, and her flowing auburn hair was accentuated by it.

He felt his breath hitch when she and Tom stepped beside him. The back of her dress was sheer as well, tapering in a V shape. Like the front, it was covered in the floral designs. The material clung to her body, showing off the curve of her hips. An endless parade of buttons dotted down her back.

He was grateful at that moment that Tom Branson was standing in between them.

Elsie gripped Tom's arm, trying to contain her emotion. She closed her eyes, listening to the rest of the music. The sight of Charles struggling not to cry was almost enough to finish her. _We are finally here. Thank you, God._

At the conclusion of the processional, Reverend Travis motioned for the congregation to sit. This being done, she opened the book in her hands and began to speak.

"Dearly beloved: We have come together in the presence of God to witness and bless the joining together of this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony…"

Elsie felt overwhelmed with joy. Her entire body trembled, not with nerves, but with all the emotion that could not be expressed. She concentrated, listening to the celebrant's words.

"…The union of husband and wife in heart, body, and mind is intended by God for their mutual joy; for the help and comfort given one another in prosperity and adversity-"

She exchanged glances with her groom, who gave her a knowing smile in return.

"…Therefore, marriage is not to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly, but reverently, deliberately, and in accordance with the purposes for which it was instituted by God. Into this holy union Elspeth May and Charles Ernest now come to be joined. If any of you can show just cause why they may not lawfully be married, speak now; or else for ever hold your peace."

Elsie bit her lip in amusement as she heard someone cough behind Charles. It sounded suspiciously like Violet, daring anyone to speak. Reverend Travis continued, speaking to Elsie directly.

"Elsie, will you have this man to be your husband; to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?"

"I will," she said clearly.

"Charles, will you have this woman to be your wife; to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?

"I will," he said, his voice tender. Rev. Travis looked up, addressing the assembled crowd.

"Will all of you witnessing these promises do all in your power to uphold these two persons in their marriage?"

"We will," echoed everyone else in the room.

"Who presents this woman to be married to this man?"

Tom took Elsie's hand and placed it into Charles's.

"We all do." He said. He kissed Elsie softly on the cheek and smiled at Charles before sitting down. Reverend Travis gestured to two chairs placed next to the wall in the nave. The couple sat down, still holding hands, as Brandon stood up in the balcony. Jimmy began to play the guitar.

Charles had managed so far not to break down. He squeezed Elsie's hand as they listened to the song.

 _The union of your spirits here has caused Him to remain_

 _For whenever two or more of you are gathered in His name_

 _There is love, there is love…_

 _Well, a man shall leave his mother and a woman leave her home_

 _They shall travel on to where the two shall be as one_

 _As it was in the beginning, is now until the end_

 _Woman draws her life from man, and gives it back again…_

He kissed her hand softly, feeling dampness against her hand. _She has given me my life back again._ She reached over and wiped his face, her fingers catching his tears. Her own gleamed in her eyes, and she laughed at their mutual emotion. During the prayers, they composed themselves again. Then John got up and recited the first reading, which was from the Song of Solomon.

"My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land; The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away. O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely…Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame. Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it…"

Elsie twined her fingers in Charles's, sneaking a peek at the congregation. Anna was beaming, as was Daisy, but Tom was brushing away tears as Edith handed him a handkerchief. He wasn't the only one in need of help. Phyllis and Joe both had tissues, as did, to the bride's surprise, Mary. Violet wore the softest expression Elsie had ever seen.

She felt a lump in her throat seeing the joy in Bill's eyes as he put an arm around Beryl. It was no surprise that her friend's eyes were red. She was also smiling.

After John finished speaking, Robert recited the second reading, from 1 John.

"Beloved, let us love one another: for love is of God; and every one that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God. He that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is love…"

When the readings were over, Reverend Travis gestured for them to stand. They did so, Charles helping Elsie to her feet. They moved until they stood facing each other in front of the altar, their right hands clasped. Charles repeated the words spoken. His voice was thick with emotion.

"In the Name of God, I, Charles, take you, Elsie, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow."

They let go of each other's hands before Elsie took Charles's right hand in hers. She swallowed, focusing on his gaze.

"In the Name of God, I, Elsie, take you, Charles, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death." She took a deep breath. "This is my solemn vow."

Robert then stepped forward and placed two white-gold rings on Reverend Travis's book. She blessed the rings, then motioned for Charles to take one. He did so.

"Elsie, I give you this ring as a symbol of my vow, and with all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit," he said, moving the ring from her left index finger, to her middle one, then finally to her ring finger. He squeezed her hands lightly, unable to keep the smile from his face. Elsie took the other ring from Reverend Travis.

"Charles, I give you this ring as a symbol of my vow, and with all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit," she repeated, moving the ring until it rested on his ring finger. Her breath hitched when she was done, her smile lightening her face. Reverend Travis joined their right hands again.

"Now that Charles and Elsie have given themselves to each other by solemn vows, with the joining of hands and the giving and receiving of a ring, I pronounce that they are husband and wife, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Those whom God has joined together, let no one put asunder."

"YAY!" Becky yelled, breaking into applause. There was a split-second pause before the entire congregation erupted in laughter and joined her, the clapping rising in a crescendo. The bride and groom laughed as well, blushing slightly. Eventually, the noise ended and Reverend Travis, smiling broadly herself, continued with the prayers. She then had Charles and Elsie kneel for the blessing.

"Most gracious God, we give you thanks for your tender love in sending Jesus Christ to come among us…By the power of your Holy Spirit, pour out the abundance of your blessing upon this man and this woman…Bless them in their work and in their companionship; in their sleeping and in their waking; in their joys and in their sorrows; in their life and in their death…"

The ring around his finger felt cold against his skin, yet nothing had ever warmed his heart more. They rose to their feet again while the Reverend spoke the Peace. She then had them face each other once more.

"It is my great joy to present to you Mr. and Mrs. Carson," she announced, before turning to Charles. "You may kiss your bride. Congratulations!"

Charles took Elsie's face gently in his hands, tilting it up. He pressed his lips gently to hers. Applause rained around them once more as the organist began to play the recessional, David Johnson's "Trumpet Tune in D Major".

She held him at the waist, not wanting to let him go. When they did break apart, she whispered in his ear as they walked down the aisle arm in arm. "I love you, _a ghraidh_."

He pulled her into his arms when they exited the sanctuary. The doors closed behind them and they were alone for the moment. " _Tha gaol agam ort-fhein_ ," he murmured, kissing her deeply, as his mouth worshiped hers.

"Charlie!" she gasped in shock, her eyes shining with tears again. "You never told me you knew that!"

He kissed her forehead, then her hand bearing her wedding ring. "My wife is Scottish, I thought I had better learn a little of her mother tongue," he said, his lips curving into a smile. They embraced, content to feel their arms around each other.

"Are there any other surprises you have planned, husband?" she teased quietly.

"Of course," she heard him smile. "You'll just have to wait and see what they are."

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 **A/N: The vows and order of service are taken from the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer, 1979. It's not exactly like what the Internet said (I left a couple of things out), but that's what I used for the ceremony. The song is "The Wedding Song" (There is Love), by Paul Stookey. The song was sung at my parents' wedding, and I've sung it myself before. Batwings made a lovely Chelsie video with this song. If you haven't seen it yet, go to Tumblr and watch it!**

 **The readings are from the King James Version of the Bible, from Song of Solomon 2:10-14, 8:6,7 and 1 John 4: 7-16.**

 **The Scottish Gaelic is entirely from the Internet; a ghraidh is "my love or my dear". Tha gaol agam ort-fhein is "I love you, too." Or so I was told.**

 **Her dress, if you want to look at it, is described as "Romantic Half-sleeved Lace Applique Wedding Dress". I love the back.**

 **If anyone is still alive out there, I'd love a review. Thanks!**


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: I'm having a harder time writing this story. It's as if subconsciously, I don't want it to end.**

 **I still own nothing, but as ever, crave your reviews. Chelsie on!**

The receiving line moved quicker than what they had anticipated. Some faces went by in a blur; others were more memorable. Elsie was delighted to see Ethel and her son Charlie.

"Who is this tall lad?" she asked, looking in wonder at the boy. "You've grown so much I scarcely recognized you!" Ethel put her arms around his shoulders fondly.

"He'll be eight soon," she said, smiling.

"Next week! And Granddad and I are going fishing in Michigan this summer, just me and him!" he said, bouncing up and down.

"That sounds like fun," Elsie laughed. "And what will your poor mother do while you're gone?"

"Clean the house properly, have a night out with the girls, and put my feet up," The flame-haired woman said, giving her son a kiss. He ducked under her arm and went out the open doors outside. Ethel shook her head.

"He's growing so fast," she said wistfully. "Sometimes I wish he would stay small, but I know it doesn't work that way." She and Elsie chatted longer before parting with a warm hug.

Charles shook the hand of the next man in line. The man shuffled awkwardly for a moment, his hands in his pockets.

"It was a lovely ceremony," he said, his eyes darting up at Charles. "Congratulations, Charlie. You deserve happiness."

"Thank you." Charles said softly, taking in his appearance, his thinning hair, and the many lines on his face.

"I didn't expect an invitation, to be honest."

"I didn't think you'd accept it, to be honest."

"I'm glad I did. You look – well, I've never seen you this happy. I hope the two of you have many wonderful years together."

"I appreciate that, Grigg. I really do." Charles shook his old roommate's hand once more. Grigg turned to Elsie, who watched quietly while the men talked.

"Mrs. Carson, you look beautiful. Charlie's a very lucky man," Grigg said. He shook hands with the bride and kissed her politely on the cheek.

"Thank you. We're very glad you came to our wedding." Elsie said warmly. He smiled and nodded at them before following the others outside. Alfred and Ivy were next in line, followed by Gwen and her daughters. While Charles talked to Alfred, the young women exclaimed over Elsie.

"Mrs. Hu-I mean, Mrs. Carson, you look fantastic," Ivy gushed, blushing at her near-miss. The bride laughed.

"Thank you, you're very sweet. You won't be the last to call me that, I'm sure. I'm not used to it myself yet!"

"I love your earrings," said Gwen. "They're very pretty. Where did you get them?"

Elsie smiled and glanced at Charles. "They belonged to Charlie's mother. They're my 'something old'."

"That's lovely!" Gwen cried. "What do you have for your new, borrowed and blue?"

"Well," Elsie said, extending her necklace on her fingers, "this is my something borrowed. Violet was very kind and lent it to me. Mary wore it for her wedding as well."

"I thought it looked familiar." Gwen nodded in admiration.

"So what's your something new? Or blue? I don't see any blue on you, other than your eyes," Ivy said.

Elsie blushed, leaning forward so that no one else could hear. "My something new and something blue are the same. My garter," she whispered. The women giggled.

"What's so funny?" Alfred asked, turning from his conversation with Charles.

"Nothing," Ivy said airily, failing to keep the smirk off of her face. Alfred congratulated Elsie before leaving with his girlfriend. The bride and groom greeted the last of the crowd before going back into the church to have a few pictures taken. Reverend Travis peeked into the sanctuary just as they were finishing.

"Your ride is here," she said. "I will see the two of you at the reception!"

Elsie sighed and leaned against Charles as they made their way out of the church. He put his arm around her and supported her as he pushed open the heavy door.

"Are you all right, Mrs. Carson?" he murmured against her ear as they went down the stairs. Her heartbeat increased at the sound of her new name coming from his lips.

"Quite all right," she said, giving him a squeeze back. "I just need to sit down."

He gestured to the waiting car. "Will this be suitable?" Tom stood next to the 1930s era cream-colored automobile, holding the door open.

Her mouth gaped open, and she struggled for breath. "Where did you _find_ this? I haven't seen an Austin Seven since I was a girl!"

Charles laughed at her delight. "A generous car fanatic who lives an hour west of here didn't mind lending it to us for the day."

"I see _someone's_ been busy with it," she said, gesturing to the hand-made sign in the back window. In bold blue marker, someone had written in big, if shaky, letters: JUST MARRIED. She took Tom's hand as he helped her into the car, her husband picking up the length of her dress to keep it from getting caught. They slid into the back seat while Tom closed the door. "Thank you for being our chauffeur," she said to their driver. "Though," she gave Charles a sideways glance, "I think you would have liked to drive it yourself."

"I already drove it from Robert's house to church," he said, smiling like a little boy. "Georgie enjoyed the ride. It was his reward for being in the wedding, and for making the sign." He linked his fingers through Elsie's. She rubbed her thumb over his ring finger, over the band that decorated it.

They rode down tree-lined streets in the evening light before turning onto a busier road. As they stopped at a red light, Elsie took the opportunity to run her fingers along the lapels of Charles's tuxedo, continuing up to his jawline. He bent his head, relishing the touch and taste of her. He cupped his hand around the back of her neck, sliding his fingers into her hair as their kiss deepened.

A modern car blared its horn behind them.

They broke apart, startled at the sudden noise, then kissed again. Elsie gave a low hum as she nipped his lip, which Charles barely heard over the car engine and the horns erupting around them. His entire world had shrunk to the distance between him and his wife.

"At first I thought it was the car people were staring at," Tom called from the driver's seat. "But now I think it's the two of you."

Neither of them heard him.

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Red shutters stood out on either side of the many windows, and warm lights glowed from inside the building. Tom turned around.

"You look wonderful, Mrs. Carson. Mr. Carson, your face-"

"I've got it," Elsie said, hastily wiping it clear. The groom straightened his slightly rumpled jacket.

"Did you have to do that?" he asked as she wiped her fingers clean on a tissue. "I should think it would have given them a good laugh if I walked in with lipstick all over me."

"As much as everyone would appreciate solid proof that you've developed a sense of humor, I know you'd regret it in years to come. You'd want to look your best in all the pictures. Besides," her eyes twinkled, "if you want your picture taken with lipstick on you, I'm sure the bride wouldn't object to kissing you later. Or any other woman, if you prefer." He rolled his eyes before helping her out. She took a deep breath, nervously patting her hair. She smiled and looked down when she caught his eye.

"What? You know I'm not one that craves the spotlight," she said. "The church was different. Yes, people were watching, but I could forget about them most of the time. It was between us and God there." She bit her lip. Truth be told, she had liked the idea of the first dance, but now the thought of doing so while everyone was watching was making her have second thoughts.

And the fact she had no idea what the song was did not help matters.

Thomas and Jimmy came out of the building, shutting the sound of many people behind them.

"We'll open the doors for you, when you're ready." Thomas said. "The DJ knows you're here, he's gathering everyone in the room by the bar."

Elsie gulped and her stomach turned over. Charles turned to the men waiting.

"Give us a moment, will you?"

"Don't worry," Jimmy said. "You two are the main attraction. Nothing happens until you decide it does."

 _I'm not sure that's the best thing to say right now._ Charles put a hand on Elsie's back, turning her in the direction of the car. He took both of her hands in his. She bit her lip, and his heart sank. His Elsie was never nervous, and to see her like this now was more than he could bear.

"Is there something I can do?" he whispered, rubbing her hands.

"Make everyone disappear while we dance?" she half-laughed. He could feel her hands trembling.

"I could tell you the song, if it would make you less nervous."

"I don't think that would help, but thank you," she said. She closed her eyes and willed herself to calm down. She didn't want to make him feel bad, not now.

He squeezed her hands, at a loss. Then suddenly, an idea hit him. He turned to the men at the door.

"Could you tell Jack that instead of being announced in, and going straight into the dance, I would like to make a toast first?"

"Certainly," Thomas said. He exchanged a confused glance with Jimmy, but went in immediately. Elsie looked at Charles with curiosity.

"I thought we would dance first? Get it out of the way?" He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, setting it securely between his arm and chest. She relaxed a little, feeling his warmth.

"I just want to make a toast first, then we'll dance. A little liquid courage?" He grinned at her, relieved when she flashed him a bright smile.

"Maybe that would help, yes," she agreed as they approached the doors again. Thomas slipped out of the door.

"Everything's arranged. Ready-" He and Jimmy opened the doors at once, and a storm of applause and cheering greeted them as they came in. Elsie smiled at their family and friends as they entered through a human tunnel that led them to the far side of the room by the bar. When they reached it, and the noise had died down, the DJ made an announcement.

"Ladies and gentlemen, before the bride and groom dance their first dance as husband and wife, the groom would like to make a toast. Does everyone have a glass to toast with? I do!" The DJ, Jack Ross, held up his water glass, receiving a titter from the crowd. John and Robert handed the couple champagne glasses. Elsie gripped hers gratefully, looking at Charles. Jack handed him the microphone, which he held in his left hand, while his right held his champagne.

"First of all, Elsie and I would like to thank each and every one of you for sharing in our day. It means everything that so many of you were able to come and celebrate with us. Thank you all." He glanced at his wife. "Speaking for myself, I can honestly say this has been easily the most memorable, as well as the best day-"his voice shook slightly, "-of my life." He cleared his throat. Her eyes were shining, and she nodded, agreeing. He gripped the microphone and turned slightly away, facing the crowd. He needed to be able say this, and if he was looking at her, he would not be able to. _This is for her._

"Twenty-six years ago," he began, "I was the youngest managing partner in the state. I was well-regarded by my peers, and had a small group of close friends that I could rely on. I had an excellent job, plenty of money, and my health. In short, I had everything to live for.

"And it meant _nothing_ to me." He focused on several faces he knew. Robert, Beryl, Violet. He wanted them to understand. They looked confused, but listened.

"Oh, I thought it meant everything – the awards for excellent legal work, the accolades from the bar association, the acquisition of yet another prestigious client - but it was like a blind man saying he had seen the sunset. I had no idea what I was missing.

"Then, one freezing day in February 1990, I conducted an interview, to fill the position of office manager. On the surface, the situation was very clear cut. Elsie was well qualified and came through the interview with flying colors. She was hired, and our professional life began."

He turned to her, to his wife. "And everything changed. For the first time, I felt how empty my life was, how empty _I_ was. I felt it all the more keenly because I was reminded on a daily basis of someone who was so unlike me, someone full of life."

"Naturally, we bumped heads a number of times early on," he said, eliciting a chuckle from his bride and their guests. "But we found our footing, and became friends, as well as colleagues. I know now," he clutched his glass a little tighter, "that from the very beginning, she was different from anyone I had ever known. I would not call what I felt then love. That was a different time, and I was a very, very different man. Over time, though, as our personal relationship continued, my feelings began to change."

His eyes softened as they looked at each other. " _She_ changed me. Year by year, little by little, Friday after Friday at Pedro's-" a full-throated laugh burst from her-"I was no longer the empty man I had been. And I gradually realized it was not enough to be her colleague, to be her friend. I loved her.

But I was afraid. Not that she wouldn't love me, because I would love her regardless, but that I could not be to her what she had been to me. She deserved more than just a shallow relationship. She deserved a man worthy of her."

Tears flowed down her face, even though she still wore a smile. She took a tissue from Anna gratefully.

"With a little prodding from friends-" he heard Beryl laugh-"I worked up the courage to ask her out on a date. I don't think she knew then that when I asked her that first time, I hoped and prayed that we would end at a celebration like this. Call me old-fashioned," he raised his eyebrows, "but with Elsie, she deserved nothing less."

The memory of that evening came flooding back to her. _I'm not asking anyone else_. He had been so nervous. As she dabbed her eyes, she thought about what she would have said if she had known his intentions then. _Darling man, I would have accepted a proposal of marriage on the spot._

"She took much less time than I had to make it clear what she wanted," he rumbled on. "Somehow, some way, this wonderful woman loved me, and had loved me for quite some time."

He swallowed and held up his champagne, seeing no one but her. "I no longer have everything to live for. I have you to live for. And I will spend the next thirty years loving you the way you have loved me. To my bride, to Elsie Carson."

"Elsie Carson," the crowd repeated. There was a pause as everyone drank, then lengthy applause for the toast. The bride and groom set their champagne glasses down on the bar before walking to the middle of the floor, holding hands. The music began, and they danced to its slow tempo.

 _Another summer day_

 _Has come and gone away_

 _In Paris and Rome_

 _But I wanna go home_

 _May be surrounded by_

 _A million people I_

 _Still feel all alone_

 _I just wanna go home_

 _Oh, I miss you, you know_

He hummed along with the song, brushing the top of her head with a kiss. She moved slightly, leaning back so they could dance properly. Her right hand rested on his shoulder. He caught her left hand before she could place it on his waist and kissed it, the light reflecting from her wedding band. She smiled and glanced at his ring as he placed his hand on her shoulder. They leaned against each other, their foreheads touching.

She felt different, in a way she wasn't sure she could explain. She was still herself, but it felt enhanced, like she was more herself than she had ever been before. She knew the dance probably looked a little silly, them spinning in a circle over and over, but she didn't care. He didn't care either, the smile not leaving his face as they moved together. He felt as though every moment in his life before then had been merely a sideshow to the reality before him. They kissed gently, whispering _I love you_.

They were home.

 _And I feel just like_

 _I'm living someone else's life_

 _It's like I just stepped outside_

 _When everything was going right_

 _And I know just why you could not_

 _Come along with me_

 _That this was not your dream_

 _But you always believed in me_

Cora's hand rubbed against Robert's, and he took it, sharing a smile with his wife. He looked back at the couple, both of whom he had known for so many years. Robert could not remember ever seeing them like this. He had noticed them moving tangibly closer, especially since their engagement. _The two shall be as one_. Perhaps they had been like this for years, and he never fully seen it before. There did not seem to be two separate people on the floor, just a single entity. He saw Mary standing a few feet away. The look she gave him, eyes full of tears, showed he was not the only one to see it.

 _Let me go home_

 _I've had my run_

 _Baby, I'm done_

 _I gotta go home_

 _Let me go home_

 _It'll all be all right_

 _I'll be home tonight_

 _I'm coming back home._

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Dinner was a warm, mellow affair. It was punctuated by periodic clinking on glasses to encourage the bride and groom to kiss. They happily complied. Some of the guests finished eating earlier, and went to dance in the other room. Most people stayed while the bride and groom were seated, enjoying the food and drink. Elsie chose to eat chicken braised in wine, with root vegetables and mashed parsnips. Charles chose the grilled Atlantic salmon with grilled vegetables. He did, however, indulge in two helpings of the dessert, apple tart with an apricot glaze.

"Make sure you save some room for cake," Elsie said quietly as he cut into the second piece with his fork.

"Have no fear," he said, grinning. "I will have room for at least one piece of our delicious cake. If I have to dance more to be able to have it, so be it." He ate the apple tart, closing his eyes in bliss. Elsie laughed, looking to her right at the round table.

"Everyone seems to like the food," she commented, seeing many bare plates.

"It's wonderful, thank you," Mary said. She glanced at the table next to them over her shoulder, smiling. "It seems you've had success with all ages."

"Poppy wants to take the pizza oven home with her," Anna said as she sipped her water. "She can be so picky sometimes, but not tonight."

"Sybbie loves it as well," Tom agreed. "And George and Marigold. Mary, you'll have to talk to Matthew when he returns. I already talked to Michael. One of us will have to install one or we'll have a riot on our hands."

"We can't have that," John said, his arm resting on the back of Anna's chair.

"Thank Elsie, if that happens," Charles said. "She asked Mark for it, knowing the children would like it."

"What did I do?" Mark asked. He stopped behind Charles's chair.

Elsie turned, smiling at the owner. "You suggested the pizza oven. It's a smash, apparently."

Mark grinned. "That's the idea. How about everything else, though? Are you two pleased with how the evening has gone?"

"Absolutely," Elsie said with conviction. "Everything looks wonderful, our guests are having a great time, and Charlie and I are thrilled. Thank you!"

"Good," he said, glancing in the direction of the hallway. "I'm very glad to hear it. Now if you and Charlie could come with me, there is a cake that needs cutting."

It was a lovely raspberry and chocolate creation. They managed to cut a decent sized triangle before feeding each other. He got some of the frosting smeared on his face, above his lip. She didn't mind (much) when Thomas wolf-whistled as Charlie licked it off her fingers. She barely had time to tell Beryl to save a few pieces for them before she was called away to dance.

The line to dance with her was longer than the groom's, but he didn't mind. He had danced with Mary, Phyllis, Violet, Cora, Beryl and Daisy before there was a lull. He headed in the direction of the back of the bride's line before John stopped him.

"Someone else requested a dance with you," he grinned, pointing to the corner. The DJ was bent over, listening intently to Sybbie.

"Pretty Woman" came to an end, and Elsie gave Thomas a hug. She fanned herself, feeling rather warm. _I haven't danced this much in years._ Jimmy stepped forward for his turn, but he was interrupted by Jack.

"Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, but I've had a request for the next dance. This young lady wishes to dance with both the bride _and_ the groom." Sybbie came forward and gave Charles a slight curtsey. He bowed, smiling, before taking her hand. The little girl then dragged him across the floor to Elsie. The three of them started dancing in a circle as the sound of a ukulele floated around the room.

"Mommy played this song to me when I was in her tummy," Sybbie said as they danced. "Daddy told me."

Charles squeezed Elsie's hand gently.

 _And the dreams that you dream of_

 _Dreams really do come true_

 _Someday I'll wish upon a star_

 _Wake up where the clouds are far behind me_

 _Where trouble melts like lemon drops_

 _High above the chimney-top_

 _That's where_

 _You'll find me…_

 _Somewhere over the rainbow_

 _Way up high_

 _And the dreams that you dare to,_

 _Why, oh, why, can't I?_

By the end of the song, their circle had widened to include the entire room as more and more people joined in. Even Henry Lang, his arm still in a cast, was there. George danced between Cora and Isobel. John held Poppy as he and Anna held hands. Robert laughed at Tom and Thomas, who were kicking their legs as if they were dancing to "Knees Up, Mother Brown". Mary held up her phone to the group, showing Matthew's face. He was visible from thousands of miles away, applauding the celebration.

Elsie felt an almost-tangible presence in the room. As she held Sybbie's hand, the little girl twirled with her cousin Marigold, their childish laughter making Elsie feel as though her heart would burst. Charles mouthed a single word to her, and she nodded, her heart full.

 _Sybil._

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 **The songs are "Home", by Michael Buble, and "Somewhere Over The Rainbow", by Israel Kamakawiwo'ole.**


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Please don't hurt me. I'm going to be out of town for a week, with limited opportunity to write, so there won't be another update until next Friday at the absolute earliest. I hope you enjoy their wedding night. As usual, I own nothing.**

 **M WARNING: TO PARAPHRASE THE ARBY'S COMMERCIAL, "WE HAVE THE SMUTS". READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.**

"Good evening, sir. Do you have a reservation?" The young man smiled pleasantly at Charles, who had been unable (not that he'd tried) to do anything but beam since dinner.

"Yes," Charles risked a glance behind him at Elsie, who was taking in the spectacular views of the city from the hotel's eighth floor reception desk. He quickly turned back and provided his information. In short order, the room keys were handed over and a bellhop was promised to arrive at their room with their luggage within five minutes.

He strode over to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The golden reflection of the outside lights illumined her shapely physique. He was struck dumb for several seconds, unable to think clearly. He cleared his throat.

"Love? I've got the keys."

"That didn't take very long," she said, taking his arm as they headed for the double elevators. A group had just exited and were headed in the direction of the restaurant across the lobby. More than one person's eyes turned in her direction. Charles resisted the urge to strut. A memory of another day, another hotel, floated through his brain.

If he didn't stop smiling, his face was going to hurt later. He didn't care.

 _This amazing, fantastic, gorgeous woman is with me. ME. I am hers, and she is mine._

They chatted about dinner and their favorite moments during the reception as the elevator stopped at the nineteenth floor. She laughed recalling Tom Branson cutting in while they danced to "Marvin Gaye".

"You took that better than I thought you would," she giggled. "For a moment, I didn't know if you would be offended or not."

"I married the woman of my dreams today," he said as they strolled down the hall. "As long as you came with me after the reception, there was nothing you could do to offend me during the celebration, short of you being caught _in flagrante delicto_ with another man. And I mean it," he growled, giving her a playful nudge with his hip. "If I had thought for a single second Tom's intentions were anything more than fun, I would have thrown him through the window."

"I thought Violet was going to keel over," she snorted, holding her hand to her mouth. He kissed her cheek with an exaggerated _mwah_.

"You _were_ being rather naughty," he rumbled. "I hope you saved some of it for me." He loved the blush that spread across her face.

"For you, always." She looked up, slightly confused as they approached the door at the end of the hall. A man in a crisp white jacket and gloves smiled and opened the door for them.

"Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Carson," he said. Charles let his bride go in front of him. He nearly trod on her shoes in his eagerness to see her reaction.

Her mouth dropped open in pure shock. The suite spread out around them, a dining room visible. The skyline spread to the horizon from the windows. Fire glowed from the fireplace. The uniformed man uncorked a bottle of wine and poured two glasses, while Charles tipped the bellhop.

"Is there anything else you need?" The man corked the bottle again, setting it carefully on the table next to the fireplace.

"I think that will be all for now, thank you," Charles said. The man left. Charles picked up the glasses of wine and handed one to his wife, who was still speechless. She kept spinning in a slow circle, taking in everything.

" _What…is…this…place?_ " she whispered finally. He clinked his glass against hers, putting his other arm around her waist.

"This, my darling, is the Presidential Suite." He watched in amusement as her face became even more slack-jawed.

"I need to sit down," she murmured, feeling her knees weaken. Fortunately, there was also a living area with several chairs. She sat in one of them, unhooking her shoes, still wide-eyed. She looked up at him. "We're staying here _two_ nights?"

"Yes," he said, sitting down next to her and removing his shoes as well. "Until Monday morning."

"When we leave to go on the honeymoon."

"Correct." He took a sip of wine. She was still frozen. "Is everything all right? Elsie?"

She was having real trouble remembering speech. "So what is _this_ , then?"

He blew out air through his nose, a warm smile on his face. "This is me spoiling you. I have to make up for lost time."

"Oh," she said, still far away. She sipped her wine, then stood up again. He got up as well, standing with her looking into the fire. She put an arm around his waist and bit her lip. He tensed slightly.

"It's…overwhelming," she finally said, leaning into him.

"But do you like it?" He was worried. He kissed her lightly on her head.

"Charles," she gazed into his eyes, a gentle smile on her face.

"I know it's a bit much," he began, wanting to explain, "but I wanted something really spectacular for you-"

He was cut off as she drew his head down to hers, kissing him on the mouth, her hands behind his neck, running down his chest, around his back. She sucked slowly on his bottom lip and teased his tongue with her own. By the time she was finished, he had forgotten what he was saying.

"Husband," she gasped, both of them panting hard, "I don't like it. I _love_ it." She hugged him, and he was grateful to wrap his arms around her. "But I would only argue that the only thing spectacular about this room is the man in my arms."

He laughed into her hair. "I won't disagree with you. I don't like it when we're not in agreement," he said, looking down at her fondly.

"I know," she touched his face. "Was that man in here earlier, was he our butler?"

"No," he said, swirling his thumbs on her hips. "He's a server, but I don't think he's a proper butler."

"Someday you can tell me the difference between a butler and a 'proper' one," she teased, looking in the direction of the door. "Well, whoever he is, as long as he doesn't disturb us, I don't mind him being here."

"There is no chance he will disturb us," he whispered, lifting her chin with his finger to kiss her again.

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They sat on the loveseat by the fire. He stretched out his bare feet on the ottoman, while Elsie sat facing the skyline, her feet in his lap. Her earrings, necklace and bracelet lay on the table with their empty wine glasses.

"Are you sure this doesn't hurt?" he asked, massaging her toes.

"Yes, I'm sure," she sighed. "It feels _very_ nice. I like those shoes, but after the dancing…ooh."

"I know what you mean," he said, crossing his ankles. He glanced in her direction. She was lost in thought, leaning against the armrest and twirling the ends of her hair around her fingers. He bent over slowly, hoping she wouldn't notice, and pressed his lips to her ankle.

" _Oh_ ," she puffed out, a soft sound over the crackling of the fire. She twisted, sliding closer to him. Clutching the side of the loveseat, she reached out and touched the ends of his hair. His hands moved up her leg to behind her knee, holding it in place as his lips followed suit. She reluctantly pulled her fingers from his hair to shove the fabric of her dress to the side. It billowed over, trailing on the floor.

He marked her leg, humming as he sucked at the silky skin above her knee. "Ch-Charlie," she stuttered, trying not to kick him with her other foot. She moaned aloud as he slid his hand underneath her thigh. The feel of his warm skin contrasted with the coolness of the small metal band was unbelievably erotic. He squeezed her thigh, kissing sideways to the inside.

Elsie's heartbeat thrummed in her ears. She traced her fingers through her husband's hair, lightly tugging on his ears. A mischievous grin lit her face as she moved her other foot until her heel brushed between his legs. He jerked, unbending from his attention to her thigh. "Elsie! Wha-" He sat up, his hands still on her. She managed to turn her foot so that her toes massaged his groin. Concentrating, she moved her big toe over one area at a steadily increasing rate. She curled her foot, moving his legs apart. The bulge in his trousers grew. He moved one hand over her leg, but seemed unable to do any more.

"Stop," he finally hissed. "Please…"

She did, flexing her foot before setting it on the floor. Her other foot was still wedged against his side. He turned to her, his eyes dark. Shifting her leg aside, he snatched her hand. They moved together, his hands pulling her onto his lap, her hands cupping his face. They kissed, open-mouthed, hot and frantic.

His mouth left hers and trailed down her neck to her cleavage. Her hands were clasped behind his neck. He slid his hands up, squeezing her breasts. She let out a sound somewhere between a squeal and a gasp, and within seconds was off his lap, standing next to the ottoman.

"I'm sorry," she gasped, her face aflame. "I want this, I want you, but-" she took another deep, ragged breath, holding her hand to her chest. "I can't breathe right now."

"What's the matter?" he asked, his own need forgotten. His heart plunged to the floor. He sprang up next to her, his hand on her shoulder, on her face. To his relief, she shook her head slightly and laughed, a breathy sound.

"I forgot what I was wearing under this dress," she said, her shoulders still heaving with her gasps. "I pity the women who lived a century ago."

"But you're all right?" He ran his thumb over her cheekbone. She put her hand over his.

"I'll be better once I'm more comfortable," she said.

"Then let me help you." She nodded, and he turned her around. He marveled at the sheer fabric over her shoulders. "This is a beautiful dress," he said, beginning to unbutton it from the top. He softly kissed the nape of her neck once it was exposed. "It adorns an even more beautiful woman."

"Charlie…"

"Please don't disagree with me on this, Mrs. Carson." He hummed again as the buttons came undone, his fingers ghosting over her freckled skin. He frowned, running his thumb down her spine. "Exactly how many buttons are on this dress?"

"Too many," she murmured, backing closer. "If it makes you feel better, I don't plan to wear this again." Enough of the back was now open for her to shimmy out of the sheer sleeves. She took his hand for support, and stepped out of the dress, which sank to the floor. He looked in awe at her. The garment underneath was ivory-colored, and covered much of her torso. Her underwear matched.

"Is _that_ …a _corset_?"

"It is indeed," she smiled shyly. "It doesn't have laces like they did in the past, but it does have hooks." She pressed a hand to the small of her back, and the curve of her breasts swelled against the fabric. His breath hitched. He reached for her.

"Let's get you out of it then," he said, his need making itself apparent immediately. She gripped his wrist before he could touch her.

"Not quite yet," she breathed. "Let's remove some of your clothing." She made quick work of ridding him of his bow tie and belt. He would have done both himself, and left her to unbutton his shirt, but he couldn't keep his hands off of her.

"Charlie," her breath hitched as he cupped her bottom, caressing his fingers between her legs, "for heaven's sake, can't you wait one minute more?" She tugged at his open shirt. "I can't get this off you if you still have your hands on me."

"Fine," he grumbled, removing his hands to let her pull them out of his sleeves. She tossed his shirt onto the chair, followed by his undershirt and trousers. He then pulled his shorts down, letting her have a good look at her effect on him. To his surprise, she skipped around his outstretched hands and went to the far side of the king-sized bed.

"Patience is a virtue," she said, biting her lip to keep from laughing at his forlorn expression. Truthfully, she hungered for his touch, but wanted to draw out their pleasure longer.

"Really?" He said, raising his eyebrows as they climbed into bed. He tried again to reach for her, but she rolled over, onto her face. "Wife, please," he begged. "I want you, love. I've needed you all day."

"Even in church?" she asked, turning her face out of the pillow. "Reverend Travis is fairly lenient, but even _she_ has her limits. Here," she took his hand and moved it to her back. "Could you please help me out of this?"

He moved over, straddling her back, his knees on either side of her hips. The hooks on the corset were even more difficult for his fingers to deal with than the buttons. His fumbling was not helped by her soft moans as he poked into her behind.

"How did you put this on earlier today?" he asked, trying to keep his mind on his mission. He gritted his teeth as another hook came loose. _There's progress, but at the rate I'm going, I'll be finished before we've even started._

"I didn't," she gasped. "Beryl and Anna fastened me into this."

"That explains it," he said. He had despaired of doing any better before his fingers discovered how to undo the aggravating instruments. He was elated, undoing them quickly. "Do you feel any better? Can you breathe easier?" he whispered, bending over her back, making sure she could feel his breath on her skin.

"Y-yes," she stuttered. She could feel open air against her back. She shivered when he spoke, but she didn't feel cold.

Not at all. If anything, she felt warmer. He moved slightly as his hands went to unclasp the lowest hooks. She bit her lip to keep from screaming. His erection bumped right against her center, through the silk fabric. She felt him undo the last one, and gladly let him pull the garment from underneath her. She tried to turn over, but he hadn't moved, locking her in place. She huffed in frustration as he pulled her arms above her head.

He laughed, the vibrations reverberating through her body. "Love," he trailed a line of slow, wet kisses across her shoulders and down her back, "I thought you should have a taste of what I've had to endure all day."

"And you think _I_ haven't endured anything!?" she half-screamed. He slid his fingers under her silk underwear, touching, pressing.

It was torture; pure, sweet agony. She gasped, panted, moaned. She gripped the pillow in one fist. With the other, she held on to a wad of the sheet. He removed her underwear, and continued kissing her back and lower. She choked, and he realized she was crying.

"Husband," she whispered, begging. "If you want me, you can have me. I need you. _Please._ "

He moved his legs so one knee rested between hers. She turned onto her back, pulling him on top of her, wrapping her legs around him. He kissed her forehead, her nose, and kissed and bit her lips until they were swollen. Her hands stroked his length, guided him into her. He worshipped the valley between her breasts with his mouth as his thumb found her center.

She wept as they joined, as her husband wept also. _The union of husband and wife…is intended by God for their mutual joy._ He sobbed, overwhelmed by the intensity of their lovemaking. His wife keened, arching her back, increasing the friction against her swollen folds. He let out a great roar as he poured into her. _My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone…_

They moved together after both had finished their dance. She touched his face gently, wiping away his tears. He smoothed back her hair and held her face in his hands. They kissed slowly, reverently, before holding their linked left hands together, their rings reflecting the firelight.


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: *M* WARNING. BECAUSE HONEYMOON. THEY GOT DIRTY, I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED, theymademedoit.**

 **Well, now I** _ **know**_ **this fandom is an obsession. This past week, being away from it and all of you, except for snatched moments here and there, almost killed me. At the conference I attended last weekend (NerdCon: Stories), there was a quote from one of the speakers that I wanted to share with all of you, especially in light of Season 6 being the last in canon. CHELSIE ON!**

" **The whole point of fanfiction is that you get to play inside somebody else's universe. Rewrite the rules, or bend them.** _ **The story doesn't have to end**_ **. You can stay in this world, this world you love, as long as you want, as long as you keep thinking of new stories." –Rainbow Rowell, Fangirl**

Charles checked the GPS, glad that he had turned the volume off. Elsie was asleep in the passenger seat. He smiled, glancing at her. It wasn't that they hadn't slept since Saturday…well, maybe not as much as they should have. And the flight this morning was early.

He hoped that she would like where they would be spending the next ten days. It was not particularly exotic, but the setting was beautiful. Their two nights at the hotel in the city had been lavish. Her reactions, and everything she had said, indicated she liked it, but he felt their honeymoon destination was more their style. _Of course, there are little extravagant touches there, too._

A peaceful sigh escaped from his lips. He was so proud and happy Elsie had married him. Nothing was too good for her. But he did want her to be comfortable where they were staying.

"Elsie," he said softly. "Wake up, we're almost there."

"Hmmm?" She turned her head, rubbing her eyes. "Oh, I didn't mean to fall asleep. Sorry," she stifled a yawn with her hand. " _Someone_ kept me awake late last night." She gave him a curvy smile. He grinned back.

"You also slept most of yesterday afternoon," he reminded her. "And is it _my_ fault that my wife looked so enticing after dinner? Naturally, I thought it would have been a shame for her to wear another stunning dress for such a short time without me fully appreciating her in it-"

She laughed throatily. "Perhaps, Mr. Carson, you need to use a better choice of words. If I recall, you seemed to be much less interested in my new dress than getting me out of it!"

"That doesn't mean I didn't think you looked fantastic," he said, quirking an eyebrow. "Besides, you were very enthusiastic helping me take your clothes off."

Giggling, she playfully slapped his shoulder. He checked the directions once more, making sure he hadn't missed a turn.

"I love your wedding ring," he said quietly as the road curved a line of mature trees. "I love seeing it with your engagement ring. It's a reminder that this isn't all a dream. This is our life now."

She kissed him on the cheek, caressing his face with her fingers. "I know. I feel the same." She settled back against her seat with a sigh. "I'm so happy, Charles. I never dreamed I would be this happy." She thought of one of her favorite lines from Jane Austen, and wondered if Elizabeth Bennett ever felt as well as knew, she was happy. They sat in contented silence for another minute before she spoke again. "So where are we going? Are you ever going to tell me?"

"Of course I'll tell you," he said. "But I'm surprised landing in Asheville, North Carolina didn't give it away."

Rolling her eyes, she rapped her knuckles against the window. "I don't know this area of the country well." She watched the trees, leafing in the spring sunshine, flash past. Mountains were visible in the distance. "This is beautiful."

"I'm glad you think so," he said. "We will be staying at the gardener's cottage on the Biltmore Estate."

"The Biltmore?" She turned to him, confused. "Weren't you reading a book about it after Christmas?"

"I was," he nodded, smirking. "I thought you'd guess my plans. The house is still a private residence, but they rent out the cottage for guests. It's on the estate. I thought it would be more our style. Unless," he glanced at her, "you'd rather stay in a 250-room house."

"I would not," she said, frowning, before her eyes brightened. "Although I suppose it would be fun trying out all of the bedrooms!"

He wagged his eyebrows. "Thirty-three bedrooms, Mrs. Carson? Who did you think you married? Casanova? I'm sorry to be a disappointment to you."

"You will never be that," she rubbed the back of his neck, "So the Biltmore has over thirty bedrooms? I had no idea!"

"We can take a tour of the house while we're here. If you like." He turned into the entrance to the estate and followed signs before coming to a stop next to their destination.

Elsie got out of the car, admiring the cottage. It was English-style, with several gables and a snug porch. A young dark-haired man named Tim introduced himself as the butler before carrying their suitcases inside. He then gave them a short tour before leaving, reminding them that he and the chef Colin would be back for dinner that evening. Elsie leaned against the wall in the comfortable living room.

"What do you think?" Charles asked, at her expression. "We'll be here for ten days. Colin's making dinner tonight for us, as well as breakfast and dinner on our last day. For in between, we can give Tim a list of what we want him to get for the kitchen." He sat down in a chair by the window and reached for her. "I know it's a lot, but when we go home, the only butler for you will be me. And I'm a poor one, by any description."

It felt like too much. She had accepted the hotel, and all its luxury, partly because she thought their time away would be more subdued. It wasn't that the cottage itself felt excessive; she liked its warm ambiance. But she was a simple person, and she didn't _need_ much. She never had. She realized she was biting her lip, and stopped. Charles had a worried expression on his face. She swallowed. He had said they would make their own meals on most days. Maybe she was overreacting.

"They'll be here tonight?" she asked. "And on our last day here?" _If it's only that, I can live with it._

"Yes," he said hesitantly. "I thought you would like it. If you don't want them, I can call and cancel." He played with his ring absent-mindedly. She took a step towards him.

"You misunderstand me," she said, her fingers locked together. "I don't mind them being here a few times. I just didn't know if they would be here every day or not. And," she tucked a stray hair out of her face, "I just feel like I don't deserve all of this. I am grateful," she said quickly, "very grateful, but I don't see how I could ever give you anything equal to this." Her voice cracked on the last word. He got up and put his hands on her shoulders.

"You are a proud woman, Elsie, and I would never take that away from you," he said, pulling her chin up to look at him. "It's one of the things I've most admired about you in all the time I've known you. Everything you've worked for, you've earned yourself. But this time together, while we're away, this is my gift to you. You marrying me is far greater than anything I could ever give _you_."

Her throat closed up, and tears threatened. She had never doubted his love. But his generosity was something she was not prepared for. She brushed away the wetness at her eyes. "If you're sure-"

"I have never been so sure," he whispered before leaning down to kiss her. They embraced for a long moment. She could hear the nearby river outside, and birds in the trees. The steady sound of his heartbeat thumped by her ear.

"I love you, Charlie Carson," she said. She gave him another squeeze before taking his hand. "Now," her eyes twinkled, "which bedroom do you prefer?"

"What about the one with the red curtains?" he asked. "It has the better view, I think."

"Hmmm," she smiled as they climbed the stairs. "I liked that one as well. But I don't intend to look out the window much while we're here, do you?"

000000000000

She woke to the sound of rain pattering on the roof. _Well, I didn't intend to sleep when we came up here, but I guess we both needed it._ His arms were wrapped around her, his deep slow breaths puffing against her neck. She moved, trying to avoid it, but he only pulled her closer into him. Elsie turned and glimpsed his wild hair and bushy eyebrows. His eyes were still shut, but he swallowed, betraying his own emergence from sleep.

She managed to roll over until she was facing him. "Darling," she whispered, her voice thick with desire. She grazed his cheek with the back of her hand. "Husband." Charles turned his face into the pillow, but not before a ghost of a smile appeared. Continuing her gentle caresses, she whispered again. "Wake, _a ghraidh_." She kissed him languidly, pressing herself into him, enjoying the feel of him.

"I am dreaming," he murmured, wrapping his arms tight around her.

"What are you dreaming?" she whispered, the tips of her fingers running over his lower lip.

His eyes were still closed. "I am dreaming that an exquisite woman married me, and had her way with me. Now she is in my arms, and I dare to think that she wants me. In the middle of a Monday afternoon."

"This is no dream," she breathed into his mouth, making him gasp. "Now open your eyes, Mr. Carson."

If he wasn't fully awake before, he was after she kissed him. She could feel him through their clothes. _Time to do something about that._

"Sit up," she demanded as she removed his socks. He obeyed, unbuttoning his shirt. She unbuckled his belt. He raised his eyebrows as he yanked his shirt off.

"You're being very bossy, Mrs. Carson," he remarked. She had divested herself of her own clothing in haste, and slid underneath the sheets.

"When we came upstairs, I didn't mean to fall asleep again," she said, pulling him closer after he kicked off his shorts. "I have to make up for lost time." Her lips found his again, her mouth open, her tongue tasting him. He groaned. Her face was shadowed by her hair, but she pulled back from him to smile at him. Her eyes were dark. She pushed on his shoulders, and he sank backwards into the pillows. She straddled him, hooking a leg around his hip. Charles threw his head back, looking at the ceiling.

"This must be a dream," he gasped as she planted hot, open-mouthed kisses down his chest and lower. He ran his fingers through her hair. "Good God, Els-" he panted, his breath staccato.

She took her time, never taking her eyes from him as she drew out his pleasure. He shuddered against her, her soft hands holding his legs in place.

"I-I c-can't-" he stuttered. "Yes, oh _God,_ _yes_ , m-more, _yes_ -"

She paused only long enough to speak. "Don't hold back, love." Moments later, he cried out, his body thrusting forward. She held him, her hands gliding over his thighs as his vibrations slowed.

After he had calmed, his heartbeat returned to a steady rhythm, he kissed her slowly as she lay against him. "That wasn't fair to you," he said, holding her close. He tousled her hair. "You received nothing from that."

She smirked, a gleam in her eye. "Oh, but I did," she argued, kissing his nose. "To watch you come undone, I love it."

"Then two can play that game," he said, grinning wickedly. He cupped her bottom, caressing her legs, then running his hands up to her belly. She tried to move his head down, toward her breasts, but he evaded her, touching her everywhere but the places she wanted most. His body vibrated in silent laughter as he moved his head, avoiding her attempts to kiss him.

"No," she protested feebly as his thumbs circled her thighs.

"No?" he rumbled. "All right, then, I'll stop-"

" _No_ ," she hissed through her teeth. "God, Charlie, touch me, kiss me-" Her voice faltered, lost in a gasp. He slid down until she was sitting on his chest. He pulled her legs around him, drunk on her sex. He could see nothing, could only go by touch, smell, taste and the sound of her moans. He lapped and sucked at her, teasing her with his mouth and tongue until she shattered once, then twice, at his touch. She still rocked against him, her keening lowered to a cry, when he turned his face oh-so-slightly, and caressed her center.

She was gone. The bed was gone, the room was gone, the world was gone. She was bent over, his hair against her breasts, his head buried between her legs. The first sensation she registered was her hand clutching the life out of the pillow. She rolled off of him, her chest still heaving, and stared unseeing at the ceiling.

 _Can't. Word. God. Yes. Good._

She trembled with the aftershocks and her body shook as if she were cold. He held her hand and lay sideways facing her.

"Elsie? Are you all right?" She nodded, her mouth open. She pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead. She tried to speak, and found to her simultaneous surprise and humor that she could not figure out how to process words. She started laughing.

He smiled and kissed her hand. "You're welcome, _a ghraidh_."

They snuggled together and slept again as the rain continued outside.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: I don't say it often enough, but THANK YOU all for reading, and reviewing. Your support keeps me going. And these silly goobers who get away from me like a runaway train, like in the last chapter! A guest reviewer gently suggested the rating be changed to M, and I did so, just to be on the safe side. Even if there's only a few M chapters out of many, there's still M. I want to be accurate. Speaking of, there's some near the end of this chapter.**

 **More honeymoon fluff. I hope you enjoy it!**

It rained the rest of Monday, and for several days after.

The newlyweds did not mind.

Except for the occasional walk, they had not left the cottage. On Thursday afternoon, Charles climbed the stairs, carefully balancing a plate in one hand, and a cup and saucer with the other. He smiled at the sight in front of him. Elsie was huddled on the window seat, a blanket wrapped around her legs. She did not hear him approach, as she was engrossed in a book. They both had enjoyed the well-stocked bookshelf.

"Tea?"

She looked up, her eyes far away. "Thank you," she took the cup and saucer from him and placed them carefully next to her. She nodded to the plate of cookies. "Are those peanut butter?"

"Yes," he said, sitting down and taking one for himself. He smiled as she fiddled with her glasses. "That must be interesting, you've hardly put it down."

"It is," she agreed, sipping the steaming tea. "It's mostly about Jennie Jerome, Winston Churchill's mother, but also about other American heiresses who married into the British aristocracy."

He nodded. "I remember hearing a bit about that in school. History's a funny thing."

"Mmmm," she said, eating a cookie. She wiped the crumbs off of her fingers onto the plate. "I keep thinking about those women – on the surface, they had everything. Money, status, the whole lot. But they were little better than pawns in a chess game." She took off her glasses. "Fathers negotiating dowries…I can't imagine marrying someone for a title, knowing they just wanted the money I could bring."

"Sounds like us," he said, leaning against a cushion. When she raised her eyebrows at him, he pretended not to know what she was talking about. "What? You obviously married me for the title of Mrs. Charles Carson, and I married you for the fortune you have hidden away somewhere. The fact that I haven't found it yet is inconsequential."

"Cheeky," she said, looking amused. "Not many of those women were happy, much less as happy as I am. Jennie had affairs throughout her marriage to Lord Churchill. 'Lady Randy', indeed."

"She sounds like a nineteenth-century Fergie." They laughed. Charles scooted closer until he sat next to her. He pulled Elsie onto his lap, kissing her temple, then her lips. Leaning his forehead against hers, he tenderly tucked a long strand of graying hair behind her ear. "Are you happy, Elsie? Truly?"

"Yes, Charles," she whispered, kissing him softly. "I'm surprised you need ask."

They cuddled on the window seat, watching the rain. "Well," he finally said, "I know one item that will go on our must-have list for our new house."

"What's that?"

He kissed the top of her head fondly. "As if you need to ask. You've sat in the window seat every day since we've been here."

She turned in his arms. " _You've_ sat here a time or two, as well."

"I like it," he said, smiling. "But you love it. We'll have to have one when we move."

"Along with a porch. And a garden of some kind," she reminded him. "A small one, or if not that, then a park nearby. For the puppy."

"You don't think I'm being ridiculous? For wanting a dog?" he asked, a worried expression on his face. "I know they can be a lot of work, so if you don't want-"

"Charles," she huffed, cupping his chin, "Stop. You've wanted a dog since you were a boy, I'll not take that away from you. And I rather look forward to having a wee furry baby," she smiled. "Someone else to cuddle with on the window seat."

"What if we get a Great Dane?" he said, his voice level. "It would break you."

She rolled her eyes. "You've been looking at pictures online of all sorts, but I notice none of them are too big to sit on my lap. If you want a gigantic dog, you're doing a great job of hiding it!"

He laughed, giving her a squeeze. "You know me well. I'd like a little one, maybe a terrier or spaniel or something like that." He moved her gently off of him and stood up. "Would you like more tea? Or something else to eat? I'm a bit peckish."

"I'll come with you," she said. "It's my turn to make something, you've made all the meals today, and yesterday." They headed down the stairs to the kitchen. Elsie rummaged in the cabinets while Charles turned his laptop on.

"You know I don't mind cooking," he said. "It's part of my job, being your butler."

"And you are a good one," she said, chopping onions to toss in the pan. "Although some of the things you've done this week are not usually in the job description."

"But as your husband, I am glad to do all of them, to the best of my ability," he chuckled. "I'm still curious as to _who_ , exactly, slipped a copy of the Kama Sutra into your luggage, since _you_ insisted it wasn't you." He looked over his glasses at her, his eyebrows raised.

"It wasn't me!" she protested. "If I had to guess, I would put money on Beryl." She tapped her finger on the counter. "Or Tom."

He leaned back in the chair, his hands behind his head. "Or Thomas, or James. I wouldn't put it past Cora, either, she and Robert have been a lot more relaxed over the last few years-"

"I could see Anna putting it there, as a joke," she mused, stirring the chicken.

"Phyllis!" he yelled. "She's got a wicked sense of humor, hidden behind that calm façade, I'm sure she'd think it would be a scream!"

"Or Spratt and Denker, their minds are in the gutter," she said, giggling.

"I think you've got it, it's got to be them," he said, choking on laughter. "Especially Denker. Spratt pretends to be appalled, but he's the worst among the staff when it comes to forwarding naughty email."

"Wait," she said, striding to the table, her face serious. "Charles Carson, you're not cheating, and checking your work email, are you?"

"I am not," he said, affronted, showing her the screen. "I'm looking at pictures of puppies, if you must know!" He scrolled through for a few minutes, clicking on different pictures.

"Hmmm," she looked over his shoulder. "Well, they _are_ cute. And these people here-" she pointed to a link on the screen, "-they live in our area, and they have puppies they're breeding. Border terriers," she read as he clicked on the link.

"Oh," he said softly. "Isn't this one adorable? The one with the reddish coat and black ears?" A smile grew across his face. He was clearly in love.

She glanced at him, biting her lip. She had not realized, until he clicked on that particular link, that the pictures were familiar.

"She," she said softly, her hands on his shoulders. He turned, his eyebrows furrowed.

"'She'? How do you know that one's a girl? It's lying on the ground."

Elsie took a deep breath. "Because I've seen her. In person. And she's yours."

Charles's mouth fell open. "Elsie," he whispered, "are you _serious_? You bought the dog – for me?" She kissed him lightly.

"Happy wedding present," she said, biting her lip out of sheer nerves. _I hope he's not angry_. "I couldn't think of what to give you that you didn't already have-"

"My God," he gasped, getting to his feet and pulling her into his arms, "You're _wonderful_ , darling!" He hugged her, bouncing with excitement. He kissed her once, then twice, holding her face between his hands. "Thank you," he whispered. "You have no idea, Els, how much I love you. First you marry me, then you give me something else that I never thought I'd have."

She moved, hastily turning off the stove as his hands encircled her waist. It would do no good to burn the cottage down. "I think I do have an idea of how much you love me," she breathed as their kisses became more heated. "What about dinner?" she panted, her breath short. He fumbled with the buttons on her blouse.

"It can wait," he growled, his lips traveling the curve of her neck. They only just made it to the bedroom in time.

0000000000000000

Friday dawned bright and clear. After a leisurely breakfast, they decided to go and take a tour of the Biltmore.

"It will seem strange to be around people after being alone all week," Charles commented as they drove.

"Why? Are you planning to take me into one of the bedrooms?" Elsie laughed.

"No, as much as I might be tempted," he smiled. "But it's been nice to be together, just us." They pulled into the parking lot.

She patted his shoulder after they got out of the car and linked her arm through his. "I know what you mean. We've been together for a while, but now it's different."

"We're family," he said quietly as they followed a path behind a line of tall trees. Holding hands, they kissed. They lingered for several minutes.

"Either we keep going and take the tour, or we go back to the cottage," she finally said. "You look like you're not sure what to do."

"I want to take the tour, but you are very distracting, Mrs. Hughes," his nose touched hers.

"Mrs. Hughes?" Her eyebrows went up, and she snorted with laughter. "That's the first time you've made that mistake!"

He rolled his eyes. "It won't be the last, I'll bet. As I said, you are quite the distraction." He pulled on her hand. "Come on, Mrs. Hughes, Mrs. Carson, Elspeth May, let's take the tour. We might as well, while we're here."

They came out into the open, onto a huge green lawn. Her mouth fell open in shock. "It's quite something, isn't it?" he asked, looking at the house. "Seeing pictures doesn't do it justice."

"Not at _all_ ," she agreed, her eyes wide. "I'd love to see the inside!"

He took a picture of her in front of the house before they went in. They explored three floors of soaring architecture, priceless art, and luxury on a grand scale. Both were floored by the library and its thousands of books. She loved Edith Vanderbilt's bedroom upstairs. He lingered in the Loggia, the open-air porch at the back of the house.

"A swimming pool in the basement! With lights!" he kept saying as they exited onto the lawn again.

"Should that go on our must-have list for _our_ house?" she teased.

"It's just amazing that they had something like that when most people still used candles or gas lamps."

"Don't forget the bowling alley. I wonder if they let their staff use it?" she mused.

Over lunch, Charles seemed to be deep in thought. Elsie thought it was a product of everything they had seen. It was not until they sat in the Butterfly Garden that she knew anything else.

"What's wrong, Charlie? You're very quiet," she commented, slipping her hand in his. "Are you feeling all right?"

He smiled and put his arm around her shoulders. "I'm fine. Sometimes I forget how observant you are."

"What's on your mind?" she asked.

He sighed, trying to find the words. "My grandfather worked in a great house like this, in England. Going through the servants' bedrooms and the kitchen reminded me of him."

"Really? I didn't know he was in service," she said. She wondered where this was going.

"Yes. He was a hall boy, then a footman. But after the First World War, there were better opportunities for a young man. So he left service and went to work in a factory. That's where he met my grandmother." He shifted slightly on the bench. "I suppose being at a place like this reminds me of how far I've come. You know we never had much when I was growing up," he stroked her hair.

"I know," she murmured.

"I wanted a dog from my earliest memories, but there was no question of asking my parents. I knew we couldn't afford it," he said, scratching his head. "And later, when I lived on my own, I thought it would be unfair to an animal to leave it locked in the house while I was gone all the time."

Turning to him, her heart sank. "What are you saying? Do you think it would be wrong to have a dog now? We'll still be gone most days."

He squeezed her shoulder. "No, I don't think it's wrong. I'm not giving my sweet present back," he gave her a grin, and she returned it tentatively. "I'm just…thinking about a lot of things. These days with you have done that." He gestured in the other direction, back at the Biltmore. "Being here, thinking about my grandparents and my parents…they all worked practically until they died. I thought I would always do that as well. I didn't think any other way. But in the last couple of days, I really started thinking the impossible. Retirement." _Ever since you said you'd marry me, it's been in the back of my mind._

Elsie's mouth fell open for the second time. "I _never_ thought I'd hear you say that." She swallowed, her mind racing. "What changed your mind? You always said you'd keep working, that you'd get bored if you stopped."

Softly kissing her forehead, he replied, "You. You changed my mind. It's not enough for me to work at the firm for the rest of my life, with you in the next office. I've had that for the last quarter-century."

The more he thought about it, the more certain he felt. Of course he wasn't going to retire immediately; there were too many details that had to be worked out in the short term. But for the first time, he could see an end. He wanted to have a life outside of his professional life. That would never happen properly if he continued working.

"But Charlie-" she bit her lip. _How do I say this without hurting him?_

"What?" he asked gently, tilting her chin towards him. "Talk to me, Elsie."

She hesitated, then went for it. "I don't want to retire. At least, not anytime soon. I am younger than you."

He nodded. It did not surprise him. "I would never force you to. Have you ever thought about it, though? Your life in retirement?"

She let out a breath, relaxing against the back of the bench. "As a matter of fact, yes. I never planned anything definite, Beryl and I used to joke about taking a cruise around the world." She shook her head. "When I thought about it seriously, I never got past finding a small home and making sure Becky was taken care of. That's all." She looked down at her hands. "I…I'm proud of working, Charlie. I enjoy it. I've worked hard to be in the position of office manager, and I don't want to give it up. Yet." She took a deep breath. "So what happens if you retire in the near future and I don't? I don't want you to resent my decision."

"I never could," he said. "It's your decision to make. And it's not as if I'm going to walk into the office when we get back and announce I'm retiring the next Friday. I don't want to cause a riot."

"Of course not, you're too professional for that," she stifled a laugh.

"But I am going to start exploring my options," he said firmly. "In a year or two, once I figure out what I'm going to do, then I'll resign. And if you want to keep working, I'll support you." He gave her a friendly nudge. "I rather like the idea of taking care of you. I'd _really_ be your butler then, taking care of the house, the dog, making your meals-"

She dissolved into laughter, hugging him. Relief flooded through her. "I love you."

"I love you, too, darling." He pressed his lips to hers.

00000000000000000000

Charles lay in Elsie's arms, his fingers tracing her breasts. She played with his hair, humming under her breath.

"You. Are. _Incredible_ ," he punctuated each word with a kiss on her glistening skin. "I'm at a loss for words. How do you _do_ that?" He looked up into her deep blue eyes. A satisfied smile greeted him.

"Practice. And attention to detail," she purred. "From the sounds you were making, I must have been successful."

" _You_ were rather loud as well, wife."

"Indeed," she said rather slowly. She let out a shuddering breath as his hot mouth claimed her nipple. She ran her foot along his leg, behind his knee. Gripping her thighs, he relinquished one breast, leaving it at a hardened peak, before lavishing attention on the other. She moaned as his fingers searched her already-sensitive center.

A cell phone vibrated a text message on the side table.

They ignored it. Charles continued his search, spurred on by her increasing vocalizations. He was distracted by the incessant sounds coming from the table next to the bed, but was not about to stop.

"Yes, _yes_ , Charlie, love, _YES-"_ She keened her release against him. Gradually, her trembling subsided. She fell back against the pillow, her arm against her forehead as she gasped for breath. He kissed her and let his tongue slowly caress her lower lip.

The phone had not stopped going off.

" _Damnit_ ," he rasped, rolling off of her and grabbing it. "This had better be an emergency-"

"Don't say that," Elsie whispered, her hand on his shoulder. "Who is it? What do they want?"

He frowned at the screen, reading the first message. "There's a picture." His mouth opened into a perfect O. Without a word, he passed the phone to her. She looked closely, then screamed aloud at the picture of Phyllis. She was beaming, holding up her hand, showing off her ring.

"Phyllis and Joe! Oh, I wondered when he'd _finally_ ask her! Wonderful!" She handed the phone back to Charles. "Quick, tell her congratulations!"

"You don't think it's odd I'm texting them a congratulatory message, while stark naked in bed with my wife?" he asked, a smile forming on his face at her excitement.

"It's not odd, as long as you don't _tell them_ ," she swatted him with a pillow.

"Certainly not," he said. His phone buzzed again. "Damn! Other people are texting, and I'm getting all the replies! And it sounds like your phone is going off, too." He growled at the instrument. He checked the new messages without sending his text. His shoulders shook as he laughed and fell sideways on the bed. Elsie tried to push him off of her.

"Och! You're heavy. Give me the phone, what's so funny?" she asked, taking it away from him.

 _Text from Phyllis Baxter to Charles Carson, etc._

 _Look what happened a few minutes ago! Joe asked me to marry him, and I said YES! I'm a very lucky lady!_

 _Thomas Barrow to Phyllis Baxter, etc._

 _AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! I KNEW IT! CONGRATS, PHIL!_

 _Anna Bates to PB, etc._

 _So exciting! Congratulations from us! Details?_

 _Daisy Mason to PB, etc._

 _Yay! Congratulations to you and Joe! You'll be very happy!_

 _Cora Crawley to PB, etc._

 _WONDERFUL! Congratulations from all of us! I want to know details!_

 _Madge Simmons to PB, etc._

 _Congratulations! Can't wait to hear all about it!_

 _Thomas Barrow to PB, etc._

 _Yeah, we want details, Phil! Cough it up!_

 _Andrew Parker to PB, etc._

 _Congratulations! Tell Joe we're already planning the stag party, he's not getting out of it!_

 _John Bates to PB, etc._

 _Congratulations, Phyllis! I know Anna already sent our regards, but I'm really happy for you and Joe. If he needs a designated driver for the stag party, I'm in._

 _Ivy Stuart to PB, etc._

 _Congratulations! When will you get married?_

 _Beryl Mason to PB, etc._

 _Now I know why my phone won't shut up! Congratulations all around, Phyllis and Joe! But whose brilliant idea was it to include Mr. and Mrs. Carson on this mass text? We don't want to disturb them, they waited long enough for their bloody honeymoon_

 _Thomas Barrow to PB, etc._

 _Beryl, do you think they're still at it? It's been a week!_

 _Beryl Mason to PB, etc._

 _I don't think you know them as well as I do_

 _Thomas Barrow to PB, etc._

 _What, do you hide in their closet and listen? Ooh, Bill won't like that…_

 _Beryl Mason to PB, etc._

 _You're a twisted man, Mr. Barrow. I'm just saying there are certain aspects to marriage that I'm sure they aren't finished enjoying._

 _Phyllis Baxter to Charles Carson, etc._

 _Thanks to all who sent their congratulations! Joe and I feel very loved. But I'd rather not hear, or even think, about what Mr. and Mrs. Carson are doing. Or not doing. Or…never mind._

 _Thomas Barrow to PB, etc._

 _Too late for that. Now we'll always wonder what they were up to…_

 _Anna Bates to PB, etc._

 _Phil, sorry your text thread has been hijacked. Thomas, STOP. END this conversation! Beryl, if you want to tease them, that's up to you, but leave us out of it!_

 _Charles Carson to PB, etc._

 _Phyllis, this is Elsie. All the congratulations in the world to you and Mr. Molesley! That's wonderful news! Mr. Carson and I are thrilled. As for Mr. Barrow, you will continue to wonder. You know me, a woman of mystery, if ever there was one. And you know Mr. Carson is the soul of discretion._

 _Beryl, when I get back next week, I think you owe me lunch._


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: Fluff alert.**

 **May 2016**

Charles whistled as he stirred the contents in the pan. Steam rose from the stove. _Cayenne? No, I shouldn't make it too hot_. He felt something brush against his leg. Looking down, he smiled widely at Pepper.

"Hello, darling," he rumbled. The puppy whined and butted her head against his foot. "I just let you out ten minutes ago, what's the matter? Are you lonely? Just a moment." He banged the wooden spoon against the pan and set it down before picking up the wriggling dog.

"There now," he sat down on a chair, soothing her. Scratching her ears, he chuckled as she settled on his lap, her front paws on his belly. "Becky held you half of the afternoon. Your auntie likes to spoil you, too!" Pepper huffed against his shirt.

"Oh, I know you miss her already. Don't worry, we'll visit her again later next week. Mummy will be able to come then." The puppy looked up at him almost pleadingly. He raised his eyebrows. "She went with Phyllis today. They're looking at wedding dresses. It's very important, otherwise she would not have left us on a Saturday." He lifted her in his arms until they were eye-level. "Have I told you how much I love you? How glad I am Mummy picked you?"

He didn't care that it might seem strange that he talked to a dog. Her ears were up, listening intently. "I know she looked for someone that I would like. And she did! But," his nose touched Pepper's. "I don't think she thought about how you resemble her, with your reddish hair. You've got a bit of me as well. Your eyes are rather like mine."

Getting up, he held Pepper in one arm while checking the stove. The puppy lunged forward at the scent, and he only just caught her in time. "Whoa! Daddy doesn't want you to get burned." He laughed. "You do get that from me – you're _always_ hungry!"

The distinct click of the front door opening reached them. Pepper leaped from his arms and raced to the hallway, her nails clacking on the floor.

Elsie pushed the door closed with her hip. She heard the tell-tale signs of the youngest member of the family behind her, and felt the smile bloom on her face. It had been a little over a week, and already neither she nor Charles could imagine life without her.

She scooped up Pepper and hugged her close, dropping her purse onto the carpet. "Hello, my wee girl! Did you have a good day with Da and Aunt Becky? I missed you!" Looking up, she shook her head at her husband. "I'm sure it must look silly, talking to a dog." She kissed her soft fur and put her down gently. Charles stepped forward and kissed her, drawing a line down her face with his finger.

"Not silly at all. I was just talking to her about you." He pulled her closer, his hand behind her neck. She encircled his back with her arms. He tasted like chocolate and peanut butter. She stepped back, her thumb on the corner of his lips.

"Please tell me you didn't give her any candy as well." His eyes widened, and she laughed at his guilt-ridden expression.

"I swear, I did not give our puppy any sweets. I was tempted, but I didn't," he said, turning to the stove. "And I only had two. I was hungry, and I wasn't sure when you'd be home-"

"Charles," she said reproachfully, "you know you could have started making dinner earlier, I would not have minded. I don't want you to go hungry on my account."

"It's nearly done now," he protested. "And I wanted to wait for you and hear all about the wedding plans."

"Fair enough," she said, reaching for the silverware.

Phyllis and Joe had set a date for early September. They were planning on an outdoor ceremony, in the gardens at the nearby university campus. Joe had asked John to be his best man. Phyllis, in a move that surprised no one, asked Thomas to stand up with her.

"She's not sure what to call him, except her best man," Elsie said as she sipped her wine. "She thought about calling him her matron of honor, just to annoy him. Beryl said she could call him that, since he's an old married man himself." She grinned, the skin around her eyes crinkling. "Then the woman had the cheek to call _me_ an old matron, since we've got our furry child at our beck and call-"

"As if she and Bill don't have several furry children themselves on the farm," he chuckled under his breath. "I don't think it matters how Phyllis refers to Thomas, he won't care. But did she find a dress?"

"Yes," she said, looking amused as she cleared their dishes from the table. "I'm not telling you any details. You'll have to wait until Monday when you can ask her yourself. She'll tell you everything, don't worry."

"How dare you, refusing to tell me details!" He playfully grabbed her from behind. She dropped the plates on the counter as he nuzzled her neck. Pepper made her presence known with gusto.

" _Arooooooooooooooooo,_ " she howled, before growling and barking at the couple. Elsie and Charles dissolved into laughter.

"There, there," Elsie hiccupped, picking up the irate animal and swaying with her from side to side, with Charles's hands on her shoulders. "We haven't forgotten about you, lass!"

"She doesn't like it when I show you affection," Charles said. He softly caressed Pepper, smoothing his fingers over her head and back. "No matter how much I might have wanted her to snuggle in bed with us, I insisted that she have her own place to sleep. Otherwise, we'd never get alone time!"

"We can't have that," Elsie murmured. She'd nearly had a breakdown the first night Pepper was home when their poor baby whined from the kitchen. But she knew, at the beginning at least, there had to be some ground rules. Secretly, she didn't think either of them would be able to stick to it in the long term. _We'll see who gives in first._

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A buzzing sound blared in her ear. She couldn't place it. Then her mind snapped into the present. Her phone was ringing, an insistent sound. In the dim light of the bedroom, she squinted at the time. 5:28 am.

"Hello?" she mumbled, her voice heavy with sleep.

"I'm sorry for waking you this early." Anna. _Oh God, the baby._

"What is it? Are you in labor? Do I need to come and get Poppy?" Elsie flung back the covers, regretting the decision immediately when the cool morning air hit her skin. Goosebumps popped up, and she scrambled to cover herself again. _I really need to stop falling asleep without clothes on._

"No, Poppy's fine. We're all fine," Anna's voice sounded slightly scratchy, but Elsie couldn't remember her ever sounding so awake that early. "As for labor, well, that all went very quickly. So quickly, in fact, that I have a young man here who wants to meet you."

Elsie gasped aloud and grabbed for Charles, shaking his shoulder. "Oh my God! It's over!? And you're all right?" Tears filled her eyes as her thoughts chased each other in an incoherent whirlwind. _They're fine. Labor went quickly. A young man. She and John have a son. Poppy has a brother. They're fine._

"Yes, I'm fine," Anna sounded as though she was close to tears. "Better than fine. I feel much better than when Poppy was born, but then he came so fast I hardly had time to think."

Charles rolled over, rubbing his face, his hair standing straight up. "What's wrong?" he whispered. "Is it Anna, do-" Elsie shushed him, listening.

"-John only just had time to call Jimmy and Thomas after calling his mum. They got to our house around half-past three, and Mum got there about fifteen minutes after we had left. We got to the hospital close to four, and he was born half an hour after we arrived. I thought I was going to deliver in the reception area! Twenty-two inches long, nine pounds, thirteen ounces. He's _gigantic_."

"Oh my," Elsie said, pressing her hand to her mouth. "I'm glad it was fast for you. But you're sure you're all right?"

"Absolutely, but I'll be better once Poppy gets here. Mum and the boys are bringing her after she wakes up. Oh," Elsie could hear someone talking in the background, followed by a loud, lusty cry. She leaned against Charles, who still looked half-asleep. "I'm sorry, but I have to let you go. Will you come this morning? I think Poppy should be up by eight."

"We'll be there later," Elsie said. She hung up and placed the phone back on the side table. Charles stroked her back.

"Is everything all right?" She turned, kissing him, feeling his heartbeat beneath her hand.

"Wonderful. Everything is wonderful," she whispered dreamily, resting her head under his chin. "Anna had the baby. It's a boy. They're all doing well." She swiftly filled him in on everything she knew.

He hugged her, kissing the top of her head. "That _is_ wonderful! I suppose we'll be going to the hospital this morning? You won't be able to stay away," he ran his fingers into her hair.

"If you don't mind?"

"No, why would I? I hope Thomas is there when we arrive," he said, a gleeful hint in his voice. "I can rub it in on winning the pool, he was convinced Anna was having another girl."

"Don't remind me," she huffed, drawing circles on his shoulder, lightly scraping her nails across his skin. "I bet that the bairn would be another girl as well."

"What's his name? You didn't tell me."

"Oh!" she gasped, sitting up straight. "I didn't think to ask!"

He sank back onto his pillow laughing until she stopped him with a full-tongued kiss.

000000000000000000

Margaret Bates gestured down the hall as she and her granddaughter walked hand-in-hand. "Look who's here!"

A huge grin split Poppy's face. She ran towards Charles and Elsie, waving a piece of paper in her hand. "Nana Elsie! Papa Carson! Hi! Look at my picture!"

"It's very pretty," Charles commented. Elsie hugged the little girl as he shared an amused glance with Margaret.

"How are you, Mr. Carson? Congratulations on your wedding, you look very happy. I think marriage agrees with you." The white-haired lady's eyes twinkled.

"Thank you, Mrs. Bates. We're very happy." He gave Poppy a kiss on the cheek. Elsie hugged Margaret warmly.

"It's nice to see you again! I didn't think we would be here today, she wasn't due for another week!"

"Sometimes that's the way of things," Margaret patted her arm. "Why don't you and your husband go in? Thomas and Jimmy are in there as well. I don't want to crowd Anna and John, Poppy and I visited for a good long while."

Anna was laughing when they entered. Elsie was relieved to see her color high, her long hair tumbling over her shoulder, her hand entwined with John's. Jimmy sat in a chair, holding the baby. Thomas was perched on the end of the bed.

"Anna," Elsie said, her eyes soft. She embraced the younger woman, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Thank God you're all right."

"I'm glad you and Mr. Carson could come so soon," Anna replied. "I would have called you to get Poppy, but-well, circumstances happen."

"I'm not offended," Elsie smiled. She squeezed John's arm. "Congratulations! What do you think, first a daughter, then a son?"

"Poppy is like her mother, naturally. If he takes after his mother, which I'm sure he will," he smiled, "then he'll have a charmed life."

"Especially if he's as charming as his father," Anna winked.

Charles shook hands with John and Anna, congratulating them. He was interrupted by Jimmy, who had been talking to Thomas in an undertone.

"Mr. Carson? Would you like to hold him? I don't think I should keep him to myself all day, as much as I'd like to." Jimmy looked at the sleeping infant with awe. Charles held a wordless conversation with Elsie. He swallowed, suddenly feeling nervous.

"Of-of course. Let me just sit down." Elsie watched him settle into the chair with trepidation, a loving smile on her lips. He cradled the sleeping baby in his big hands, and her heart melted. She stood behind him, tracing a finger lightly over smooth skin.

"He's so small," Charles whispered, turning his head slightly to his wife. "Was Poppy this small? I don't remember her being this tiny."

"He's bigger than his sister was," she murmured. "But just as sweet." She looked up at John and Anna. "I completely forgot to ask earlier – what's his name?" The younger couple exchanged a glance before John spoke up.

"Like his sister, we're going to call him by his middle name. Sebastian."

Charles raised his eyebrows. "I suppose it would be confusing to have two Johns in your house. It's a different name. He'll stand out with that one."

"His full name is Charles Sebastian Bates." John said softly. Elsie's hands flew to her mouth. Charles's heart skipped several beats. He looked up, struggling both for words to say as well as to keep from crying. He let out a long breath.

"I…I am honored," he whispered, his attention back on the warm infant in his arms. Elsie took an offered tissue from Thomas.

"Would you be willing to be his godfather? We'd love you to be," Anna said. Charles ducked his head, feeling a tear running down his face. He turned his head, not wanting it to fall on Sebastian. He and Elsie laughed quietly as she wiped it away. His heart overflowed with love – for the baby, for Poppy, for John and Anna. For Poppy's godmother, his wife, the woman who took Sebastian gently from his arms, to cuddle him herself. He tucked a strand of her hair back as she sat on the bed next to Thomas. He stood up, remembering he hadn't answered Anna yet.

"Of course, I'd be delighted. Thank you," he replied, smiling at her. She clutched John's hand and wiped away her own tears. Sebastian fretted in Elsie's arms, and Thomas touched his tiny hand.

"Hey there little man, it's not that bad. He may look strict, but he's an old softie." He grinned at Charles, who felt himself smiling back.

"Listen to your Uncle Thomas. He may get some things wrong, but in this case, he's right." He put a hand on Elsie's back as she hummed. The baby quieted. Jimmy slid one arm around Thomas's shoulders and put the other around Anna.

"Well, we're just missing Robert, then all the partners can have a good cry together," John joked. Everyone laughed.

"Has Mary been here?" Elsie asked.

Anna shook her head. "Not yet, she's coming in a little while. We're going to ask her to be Sebastian's godmother." She sipped some water from John. Elsie looked at Charles.

"How very fitting, you and she being godparents together," she said quietly. She gazed back at the baby. "He's very lucky." Charles could hear the sincerity in her voice. His throat closed again.

"Both he and Poppy are lucky to have you and Charles," John said. "For all intents and purposes, you both are their grandparents, along with my mother."

"As well as to Sybbie," Anna reminded them. "And mentors to a lot of us. You may not have noticed, but you've got a big family!"

Charles leaned over and kissed Elsie on the cheek. "What a family," he murmured. She turned slightly, a tear gleaming in her eye.

"And we wouldn't trade them for anything," she whispered.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: This is the last flashback. I had the idea for this chapter ages ago, but there never seemed to be a good spot for it. This is the first chapter posted tonight.**

 **Just a reminder, I do not own Downton Abbey.**

 _January 2010_

Elsie sat blankly in shock. She had been sitting in the car for ten minutes in front of her building, but could not muster the energy to go in. She rubbed her eyes, wondering vaguely why she wasn't crying.

 _The tears will come soon enough. When they do, will you be able to stop?_

Most of the staff had looked like she felt. She was grateful that Mr. Carson had closed the office immediately, and sent everyone home after he told them the news. It may have been surprising to those outside the firm. The managing partner had kept the office open on 9/11, after all.

But this was different. It was not a national tragedy. But all of them were in mourning.

 _Sybil is dead._

The look on his face when he told the assembled staff showed raw pain. His voice never wavered. It was quieter than normal, but otherwise it was his same steady tone.

She was the only one who saw the effort it took him to tell them without breaking down. She wondered if he was sitting alone at home. Unable to cry, as she was.

Somehow the thought of him crying alone was worse.

 _Sybil is dead._

She went inside and sat still on the couch. She could not imagine what Tom felt. Today, on what should have been the happiest day of he and Sybil's life together. _That poor bairn. She will never know her mother._

It seemed unthinkable. The last time she saw Sybil ( _it didn't seem right, to know it was the last time to see her_ ) was less than a week ago, when she had stopped by the office. The heavily pregnant young woman was happy, tired, and eager to see her child.

But fate had other plans.

 _Sybil is dead._

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Charles shuffled forward, as the line crawled forward. He wanted to get through it quickly. At the same time, he wished he would never reach the end. He had only had one fleeting glance so far, of the young face so pale and still. His gaze shifted again to Mary. She stood rigid, one hand firmly clenched in Matthew's, while she politely greeted those in the never-ending line.

He wished he could have cried at home, alone. He was very glad that his own emotion seemed to be shut off for the time being, although the memories flickered ceaselessly in his mind. _I will never understand why the young die before the old._

After his collapse and heart surgery, he had gone to a counselor for the first time in his life. Death was no longer a distant destination, one to be put off until the last moment. It could come at any time.

 _Why do you not tell her that it was she who brought you back? That you'd be dead if it wasn't for her?_

He shook off the persistent whispers in his head. Now was not the time to think about Elsie Hughes.

Still, he looked around the room, before spotting her a little further back in line. She and Anna held both of Thomas's arms, trying to comfort him. She seemed to sense him looking, because a moment later she looked back at him.

She was pale, which was understandable. But it was the pain in her eyes that twisted his heart. Charles gave her one solemn nod, wishing he could touch her. Comfort her somehow. Tell her that she didn't have to hold in her pain. If there weren't so many people, he would.

"The line's moving," someone murmured behind him. Apologizing, he hastily caught up to the person in front of him. A few minutes later, he reached the first of the family greeting the mourners.

"Oh, Carson," Violet took his offered hand, holding it between her own. She took a shaky breath. "We've seen some troubles, you and I, but nothing worse than this."

"Nothing could be worse than this," he said softly. He was prepared for the family's grief, but seeing this indomitable woman so shattered, somehow made it infinitely worse.

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The funeral was a blur. Except for the occasional muffled sobs and stifled coughs, the congregation was very quiet. The Bransons and Crawleys were clustered around Tom. His face was completely pallid, except for his red-rimmed eyes.

Charles kept his lips firmly pressed together, as if they were what kept his emotions back. Ever since the visitation and his last look at Sybil, he felt as though a great weight pressed upon his heart, waiting to be lifted.

But how could it? He could not change the past. Nothing could bring Sybil back. Nothing could fill the void she left, one that her infant daughter would never fully know.

Elsie still felt as though she was not physically present; it was as though her heart had been disconnected from her body. She spoke when necessary, handed tissues to colleagues when needed, and provided a shoulder to cry on. But her own grief was locked away, leaving her without the key to release it.

She held Daisy as the young woman cried. William smoothed his hand on his girlfriend's back, tears streaming down his face. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the managing partner get up from a pew in front of them and hurry toward the back of the church. She gently handed Daisy over to William. Trying not to disturb Bill and Beryl, she ducked out of the sanctuary. Alone in the narthex, he paced wildly, his face down, his hands continuously moving.

He moved as though he was afraid to stop. Her heart thumped hard. She swallowed, feeling her throat constrict.

"Are you all right, Mr. Carson?"

He looked up. They stared at each other for several seconds that seemed to last an age. His chin wobbled, and he turned away, leaning his head on the brick wall, his back to her.

The look on her face seemed to lift something from him, freeing him from his blocked grief. There was grief there, and compassion. And there was also a tenderness that he had never seen before. But he didn't want to make her more upset. So he faced the wall.

"I knew her all her life, you see," he gulped, finally feeling hot tears drip from his face. He didn't stop them. He knew she would not think less of him for weeping. "I've known her since she was born." His voice broke on the last word.

Her heart ached at the sound. He gasped and rested his hands against the wall, clearly trying to control himself. She wished she could put an arm around him, draw his head down to her shoulder. Perhaps if they were at Pedro's, and had several drinks between them, she would.

But here, with most of their co-workers and friends feet away, she didn't dare.

Sybil had embraced her once, and told her she loved her.

She loved that girl. She only wished she would have told her, while she still had the chance.

He let go of his own reserve and wept openly. Sitting down on an old pew, he cried as he had not cried for years, not since the deaths of his own family. Pulling out his handkerchief, he tried to dry his face. A whimper, a low moan of grief reached his ears. She stood half turned, her hand pressed to her mouth.

"Don't mind me," she whispered, trying in vain to wipe her tears. "The sweetest spirit we've ever known is gone, and I'm weeping myself."

It was pure instinct for her to reach for him, to put her hand over his as she sat down next to him. Their knees almost touched. They had been friends for years, and except for that horrible time when she almost went to Haxby ( _and you almost lost him_ ), they had supported each other through thick and thin. But there were certain unspoken lines that had never been crossed.

All that had been swept aside in the face of their mutual sorrow.

He put his hand over hers, slowly running his thumb over her knuckles. Her chest shuddered with suppressed sobs.

"It's all right, Mrs. Hughes," he whispered. "Go ahead and cry. It's better to grieve with a friend than when you're alone."

She didn't know how, but his words seemed to reattach her heart to her body. She gasped, a guttural sound escaping from her lips. She leaned her head against his shoulder. The fabric of his suit was soon soaked. He stroked her hand, crying with her.

When she felt her heart beat again in her chest, it was as if the shattered parts of her body were piecing themselves back together.

Their tears had been mostly spent by the time the funeral was over. Charles followed at a safe distance behind Elsie as they joined the silent crowd. The coffin was lovingly carried to the hearse and placed inside. He stood next to her at the gravesite, his hand held behind her back, just in case she needed steadying.

She didn't.

But she held his hand when the roses were dropped into the grave, along with the first handfuls of dirt.

He didn't let go until the last prayer was finished.

Elsie had ridden with Beryl, but Charles motioned wordlessly to his car as everyone left. Sinking into the passenger seat, she suddenly felt exhausted. She was grateful, so grateful, to have him. As a friend.

For the first time, she wondered if he felt anything more.


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: WARNING - THIS IS THE SECOND CHAPTER POSTED TONIGHT! The first was a flashback. After this, unless something drastic happens to change my mind, there will be an epilogue.**

 **I'm already in withdrawal from this story.**

 **Twelve Years After Charles and Elsie's Wedding**

Charles lay back in the recliner, Pepper asleep on his lap. The family room was back to its usual appearance. _Well, except for the scuff marks. Those won't come off the walls easily. And I don't want to think about what they've done to the upstairs. No. Don't think of it, Charlie. Not now. Whatever they've done, you'll forgive them. You always do._

He woke at the same time as Pepper; both of them alerted to the sound of someone entering the house. He looked through bleary eyes at the figure standing in the doorway.

"Let me guess – the marks are the work of Miss Ada and Mr. Quinton Barrow-Kent?"

He cleared his throat. "How did you know?" She leaned against the doorframe, swinging her keys on her fingers, and he was struck by how much she resembled her mother.

"They're the youngest, except for Will and Mason. Beatrice is too sweet to behave like that, and the twins behave themselves better, even for hyperactive boys." She snorted. "That does it. Please give my apologies to Uncle Thomas and Uncle Jimmy, but I'm going to kill their kids."

He ran his hand over Pepper's back. "Can you mow the lawn first, Sybbie? Since you're here already-"

She blew her hair out of her face. "You act like I don't mean it! I do! I know you and Aunt Elsie love those kids, but they are _hooligans_! Lottie's only a year older than Ada, and _she_ doesn't trash your house when she visits!"

Laughing, Charles got to his feet. "Charlotte has your Aunt Mary as her mother. Ada doesn't. Thomas and James are admirable parents, but they are a bit strict at times. It's ironic, because those children have been wrapped around their little fingers since they were adopted." He shrugged. "When they visit Nana and Papa Carson's house, Ada and Q blow off steam. It's only marks on the wall, they'll wash off."

Sybbie bent down and picked up Pepper. "You _are_ an old softie. From what Dad tells me, _you_ were the strict one once, at the office. I find that hard to believe."

"Ask Elsie, if you don't believe him. She'll be back soon." He yawned, rubbing his face. Sybbie straightened up, her face alight.

"Why didn't you call me? I could have come over earlier, taken the kids home-"

"And murdered them on the way? No, Els drove them-"

"-and come back to mow for you. I _can_ drive, Uncle Carson," her eyes sparkled. "I know you don't trust me, but I am an excellent driver. I've had my license for two years now. Not one accident or citation."

"Which is more than what Poppy can say. When was the accident, a week after she got her permit?"

"Yes. Poor girl," Sybbie stifled a laugh. "It really wasn't her fault. The woman behind her wasn't paying attention, and bumped her at the red light." She paused, shaking her head. "I think Uncle John would have taken it better, but the fact that she was driving, with Aunt Anna in the passenger seat and Sebastian in the back, almost gave him a coronary."

Charles leaned against the island in the kitchen. "Well, at least he's letting her drive again. Or, at least Anna's convinced him to let her. I know she wants to take the test after her birthday. Anna's eager to have someone else do the school run, at least in the afternoon. We'd pick up Sebastian then, if we didn't have our volunteer hours at Becky's home four days a week."

"For being retired, you two are awfully busy." Sybbie grinned. "I'll go mow now, it won't take me much more than half an hour."

He watched her in the backyard for a few minutes, mowing around the bench that Elsie loved. He pottered around the kitchen, preparing for dinner, before he had to sit down. He didn't like to admit that his knees weren't what they used to be. _Fact of life, Charlie, you're almost eighty years old_. He was glad that Sybbie had offered to mow for them this summer; it kept Elsie from doing it. And it was another opportunity to have more time with their oldest "spirit-child", as his wife called them. He sighed, setting down the paring knife.

 _University. And George next year, and Poppy and Marigold the year after that. Sebastian will be a teenager next year. Andy and Daisy's twins are almost ten._

 _Where has the time gone?_

It had been ten years since he retired. Robert had taken over as Managing Partner briefly, before seeing sense (helped by a frightening scare with a burst ulcer). Between them, John, Mary, Matthew and Tom had steered the firm into what sounded like its busiest years. It had been seven years since Elsie handed over the job of office manager to Phyllis Molesley. Appropriately, the same day she retired, Beryl handed over the responsibilities of the Records Clerks Supervisor to Phyllis's husband.

He glanced across the room where the collage of pictures hung. The largest, in the middle, was of their wedding day. It was a black-and-white still from the reception. Neither he nor Elsie remembered the photographer taking the picture during their first dance. He, with a soft look and softer smile, and she with a blissful expression, her eyes closed, as they embraced. That picture was surrounded by a dozen others. Most were of him and Elsie alone, or with friends and family.

"You're far away, Charles." The love of his life sat down next to him. "I'm sorry I took longer than usual. Jimmy wanted to chat." The sound of the mower through the back door reached him.

"That's quite all right, I wasn't worried." He reached for her hand and kissed it softly.

"What were you thinking about?" She grabbed the paring knife and continued chopping the peppers.

"You. Us. How fast the time goes, Sybbie will be leaving in a few weeks…"

"Don't remind me," she said. She felt a lump in her throat, and turned her head, dropping the knife on the table.

She wasn't fast enough. He tucked a finger under her chin, gently turning her face. "Love, you know they have to stretch their wings and fly eventually. Let's enjoy tonight and tomorrow, hmmm?"

"I know, and I will," she said shakily. She squeezed his hand. "Let me finish with these, then I can help you with the rest."

"I can finish preparing dinner," he protested. "I am perfectly capable! I may be old, but I'm not infirm."

Elsie rolled her eyes. "If you insist. This old lady will go upstairs and check the damage. I don't know what Q was doing in the loft, he sounded like he was going to come through the ceiling. I told Jimmy he and Thomas need to loosen up a bit, he's a seven-year-old boy. And Ada's only ten. Too soon they'll be grown." She got up and went up to the top of the stairs, shaking her head ruefully at the mess in the loft.

After finding the missing pieces from the chess set, then placing books back onto the shelf, she sat folding sheets from the laundry she'd brought up earlier. The bathroom door opened, and Sybbie emerged in a cloud of steam.

"I didn't hear you come up," she said as the young woman kissed her cheek.

"You were busy, and I was dirty. I didn't want to stink through dinner," she explained. "Aunt Elsie, why didn't you call me earlier? I would have taken the kids home, and spared you the drive."

"Would you have spared _them_ , I wonder?" Elsie raised an eyebrow, laughing. Sybbie pursed her lips. "You've got a bit of your Aunt Mary in you – Sebastian calls you the Mary-bot, did you know that? After what happened at Easter, I think Ada's afraid of you."

Sybbie sighed, holding her hand as they went back downstairs. "I didn't _mean_ to yell at her like that. But she wasn't paying attention, and she splashed dye all over your kitchen! I was just tired of you and Uncle Carson always having to clean up after them!"

"Your father agreed, that's why he helped clean up the mess," Elsie reminded her gently. "As did you. And Miss Branson," she grinned, a glint in her eye, "need I remind you of when you and your cousins were younger? You made plenty of messes too." She ruffled Sybbie's wet hair fondly.

The three of them sat in the backyard as the sun went down. There was a slight breeze, which kept it from being too warm. Pepper sniffed around their feet.

"I'll put the sheets on the spare bed after dinner," Sybbie said. She yawned, covering her mouth with her hand.

Charles scraped his fork over his plate. "Why bother? We know you'll just end up sleeping in the window-seat upstairs." He and Elsie exchanged an amused glance.

"You're probably right," Sybbie said, looking sheepish. "I can't help it, though – it's so comfortable!"

"You'll never hear me say otherwise. I've fallen asleep there more times than I can count. Usually with a book in my lap," Elsie said, stacking the dirty dishes. "Oh! While I'm thinking of it, darling, can you go get those pictures? The ones we were looking at yesterday?"

"Of course," he went into the house and came back a few minutes later with the thick album. _So old-fashioned, no one has these anymore. But it's so much better to have something tangible to see and touch, rather than a screen._

He sat back down and pushed the book across the table to Sybbie. "Go on, take a look."

She opened the cover, looking at them. "What is it?" she asked, before seeing the first one. "OH!" Her eyes bulged. "These are from your trip, right? Where was this one taken? Ireland?"

"That's right," Charles laughed, holding hands with Elsie. "We didn't think you had seen some of them. Yes, that one was taken in Ireland. Cork."

"And what about this one?" Sybbie turned the book, showing it to them like it was story-time. She pointed at a picture of Charles posing in front of an imposing house.

"I took that one, when we visited Highclere Castle. It's in Berkshire, west of London," Elsie said. "That's where Charlie's grandfather worked as a hall boy and a footman, until just after the First World War."

"Wow," Sybbie said, her eyebrows raised. "It looks huge! I've been in contact with some of the girls I'll be living with at UCD. We're planning on traveling to Britain in October. I'll have to see if we can get to Highclere as well."

"It's beautiful," Charles said softly. "I hope you get to see it someday. I'm glad we were able to go."

Sybbie continued flipping through the pages, stopping at some to ask questions, or to comment. There were a series of pictures of Elsie and Charles in Argyll.

"I never asked," Sybbie hesitated, "but did it make you homesick? Being in Scotland after so many years away?"

"No," Elsie said truthfully. "I hardly recognized it. We found the ancient church where my grandparents are buried. The house where I was born has long since gone – I don't know who owns the land now." She leaned her head on her hand. "But I'm not that farm girl anymore. I haven't been, not for many years. Where Charlie is, that's home." She smiled and winked at him.

"For better or worse, lass, you're stuck with me." He chuckled. Sybbie turned to the last page that had had pictures in it.

"Where did you get this?" she cried, her eyes darting from Elsie to Charles and back again. "I've never seen this-where did you _get_ this!? This must have been taken when Dad and Mom went to Ireland after they married!" She put a hand to her mouth in wonder.

"Yes, it was taken when they went to Ireland, about six months after they got married," Elsie said, moving over to sit next to Sybbie. Charles leaned forward to get a better look. Tom and Sybil had their arms around each other, both clearly laughing hard. Tom was leaning forward, while Sybil's head was thrown back.

"They were very young," Charles commented, smiling. "I often forget how young they were. Both in their twenties. Not much older than you are now."

Sybbie pulled the picture carefully out of the sleeve, touching her mother's face. "She lived her life to the fullest. Dad always says she held nothing back, that's what he says got him through after-after she died. He knew she had no regrets." She looked up, her expression almost fierce. "It makes me proud," she said, a slight tremble in her voice, "that I stuck to my decision to go to Dublin to university. I've only got one life, and I want to do as much as possible with it." She sighed, setting the picture down. "Dad's been fantastic. He's supported me totally, even after Grandpa and Aunt Mary-not to mention most of my friends-tried to convince me to go somewhere closer to home." She ran a hand through her ponytail. "I'm sure _you'd_ prefer it if I stayed close, but you both have encouraged me to follow my dreams. I can't thank you enough."

"We're proud of you," Elsie said, giving the girl a warm hug. "Of course we'll miss you-" she choked back a sob.

"Oh, don't cry!" Sybbie exclaimed, holding on to her. "I caught Dad crying earlier this week!" She looked at Charles over Elsie's shoulder. "Please promise me you'll look after him when I'm away," she whispered. "I know he's got all the Bransons _and_ Crawleys to look after him, but ask him to dinner, get him to walk Pepper. Something. I'll feel better knowing he's got you two."

"Absolutely," Charles said. "We won't forget about him."

"Never," Elsie agreed, wiping her eyes. "I'm sorry for crying, Sybbie."

"That's life," Sybbie grinned. "I'm sure I'll do a lot of it myself before I leave – which won't be until _after_ your birthday, Uncle Carson. I'm not missing the big event!"

"I'm glad to hear it," he said, standing up. She got up and gave him a big hug.

"Will there be dancing? I can't imagine a Carson occasion without dancing."

"Of course, though with my knees, I might have to yield the floor after just one song," he joked, giving her a kiss on the forehead. They both knew he'd refuse to sit down until he'd danced with his wife, then her.

"Why don't I turn on the record player? You can practice with Aunt Carson," she gave Elsie a cheeky grin.

"You haven't called me that for a long time," Elsie said, getting up and grabbing Charles's hand. "That is a good idea, you pick the record."

"Isn't that dangerous?" Charles mock-grumbled. "She'll probably play something I've never heard of. And what about Pepper?" The dog was whining at their feet. "Whenever Elsie gets my attention, she wants some, too."

"Considering this is _your_ record collection, I can hardly play something you've never heard of," Sybbie's voice echoed from inside as she fiddled with the old record player. "And don't worry about the little princess, I'll dance with her. She likes it." She placed the record and called to the backyard. "Come here, Pepper!" She scooped up the dog, swaying to the beat.

 _Oh, my love, my darling_

 _I've hungered for your touch_

 _A long, lonely time_

 _Time goes by so slowly_

 _And time can do so much_

 _Are you still mine?_

 _I need your love_

 _I need your love_

 _God speed your love to me_

Elsie smiled at the sound of his voice as he hummed along with the tune. She hummed herself when he bent his head and kissed her softly on the lips. She pulled on his arms lightly, drawing him closer. He smiled as he deepened their kiss. His mouth opened, and his heart pumped faster. He tasted her, his love.

 _Lonely rivers flow to the sea, to the sea_

 _To the open arms of the sea_

 _Lonely rivers sigh, "Wait for me, wait for me_

 _I'll be coming home, wait for me"…_

Sybbie watched them turn slowly in the fading light of the sunset. The Tiki torches flickered, casting their shadows on the ground. She jumped as the player crackled, and she hastily turned it off so as not to disturb them. She rubbed Pepper's belly, holding the small dog in one arm. "Mummy and Daddy have forgotten anyone else is home right now," she whispered. She stole another glance outside. The couple had stopped dancing altogether, and were lost in each other.

"You see, Pepper? That's what they are. That's what they've always been. Together," Sybbie murmured, tucking the memory safe inside her heart. "I will never forget you, no matter how far away I am, or how much time goes by. I won't forget, Uncle and Aunt Carson."

 **A/N: The song is "Unchained Melody", from the Righteous Brothers.**


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N: This is the epilogue. There is a warning for multiple character deaths. I'm sorry.**

 **I do not own Downton Abbey, I've just borrowed the characters for a while.**

 **The first song mentioned is "Then", by Brad Paisley.**

 **Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to all of you who have read and reviewed this story. I had an idea for Chelsie in a modern AU, set at a law firm. I have been absolutely blown away by the support for this! It has been a genuine joy to write, and I'm going to miss it. That's the downside of an epilogue staring a writer in the face; I knew there would be an end from the early chapters. That being said, if any of you have any alternate ideas about this fic, please let me know. I won't be against revisiting it in the future. I can always find gaps to fill. Please, please review and tell me what you think of this, any random chapter, and the fic as a whole.**

 **Again, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I love you all. Chelsie on!**

 **-meetmeinstlouie**

 **Epilogue**

 **September 2046**

The fields were a blur of children, coaches and parents. He had asked at the concession stand where the nine-year-olds were playing, and was headed in that general direction before he heard someone say his name.

"Tom?"

Her white hair was up, much like it had been when they worked together at the firm. Back when it was blonde.

He touched her shoulder. "Hello, Anna! It's nice to see you. Here to watch the grandchildren?"

"Of course," she smiled, the familiar gap between her teeth showing. He was glad to see her smile. "George is coaching Johnny's team, and I promised Poppy to bring her some coffee." She held up the cups in her hands. "She's never been a morning person."

"Sounds like someone I know," he joked as they maneuvered through crowd. "Are Matthew and Mary here as well?"

"No," she said, sipping coffee from one of the cups. "They're still up north, helping Lottie with the new baby."

"I wasn't sure if she was coming back today or tomorrow. How does George like coaching the team?"

"Oh, you know, they're four-year-olds," she said, giggling. "George says it's like herding cats."

They walked for a few more minutes before finding the right field. Anna handed the other cup to Poppy, who took it gratefully.

"Mmmm, you're the best mother on the planet," she said, taking a long sip. "Just don't tell my mother-in-law I said that. I know you tell her everything!"

"I do not," Anna protested. "Mary and I have been friends since we were young, but I don't tell her _everything_."

Poppy rolled her eyes. "Right." She then noticed Tom. "Uncle Tom! I didn't expect to see you here!" She got up and gave him a hug.

"I just came by to take my oldest grandchild out for breakfast. I'm starting a new tradition today." He tilted his hat to keep his eyes shaded.

"I'm sorry," Anna said. "I didn't mean to keep you from her game-"

"You didn't. The other team didn't show up, so they're practice instead."

"Q's her coach, right?" Poppy asked as they watched the group of little boys chase the ball. "Tell him from me that I hope he's doing well, and the next time I see him, I'm going to kill him."

Anna swatted her daughter on her arm. "Will that _ever_ end? Poor Q, always getting threatened!"

Poppy and Tom laughed. Poppy drank more of the coffee. "Mum, it's just a joke. If you want to blame someone for starting it, blame Sybbie. She started it. She's been threatening to kill Quinton for roughly twenty years."

"And she hasn't done it yet. I have my doubts," Tom said. "I should go, they're nearly done," he waved at George, who waved back. "Poppy, I'll see you next week at the barbeque. Matthew wouldn't let me say no."

"See you then," Poppy replied, turning back to her son's game. Anna turned to Tom.

"I'll walk with you for a bit, if you don't mind."

"Not at all," he said, knowing what she wanted to talk about. They walked around the smaller fields, toward the middle of the complex. He waited a full minute before speaking. "I hope you don't mind me saying, but it's good to see you out and about again."

She nodded, squeezing his arm, before clasping her hands together. "Thank you. It was time. John wouldn't want me to hide away. He always wanted me to live for both of us. Thankfully, I've got plenty to live for." She looked into the distance, her blue eyes shining. "Over these past months, I've really been able to grieve properly, to come to terms with him being gone." Her voice shook for a moment before she cleared her throat. "Tell me the truth. Does it get easier?"

He sighed, his hands in his pockets. He wanted to be kind, but she needed to hear the truth. "No, not really. There are good days and bad days." They stopped at the edge of the field, where a crowd of girls were seated around a dark-haired man. "You'll always think of him. Sometimes he'll be at the forefront of your mind, and you won't know how you'll manage to get out of bed. Other days, he'll be there, like he's sitting in the corner, but you'll be able to get through it. And some days, like today…" he trailed off, his own thoughts taking over. "I can feel her standing next to me, walking with me, but it doesn't hurt. It's an absence without the pain. I know she's with me, that she never really left. It brings a certain comfort, if that makes any sense." He turned to her. "Isobel said on her wedding day to Richard that we were the lucky ones. You've been lucky, you said it at John's wake. You've known real love."

Pulling a tissue out of the pocket of her jacket, she dabbed at her eyes. "Did I say that? I don't remember." She blew her nose, smoothed a flyaway hair back. "It's funny, I was thinking about Elsie this morning, when I woke up. Sometimes I almost envy her…is that wrong?"

"No," he said stoutly. "I've felt the same. Of course, my circumstances and yours are different from theirs. They were older."

"You don't think she just gave up, do you?" Anna whispered. "Poppy was so furious with the coroner. He seemed to think so."

Tom crossed his arms. "I can see why he said it. But you and she were there." He ran his fingers down to his chin, thinking, before his eyes widened. "You were the last to see her."

Anna shook her head, scuffing her shoe on the grass. "They were both frail. I know when John died last winter, Mr. Carson took it hard. They both did. And they were still in mourning for Beryl, too. Mary thought it was a miracle Mr. Carson made it to their thirtieth wedding anniversary." She grinned at the look on Tom's face.

"That man was _determined_ to not miss it," he took off his hat and twirled it on his hand. "And he didn't. Then he slipped away in his sleep one week later." He cleared his throat. "Ninety-eight years old," he said quietly. "And she was ninety."

"It was a crazy fluke that the coroner didn't get there right away," Anna said, remembering. "Elsie was calm, very calm. I remember Poppy getting her a cup of tea, and she drank some of it. Then she said she was going to lay down. I don't know…I think I knew then. Sometimes I ask myself if I would have done things differently, insisted she rest on the couch. I knew she would go back to the bedroom. Back to him."

"You would not have done anything differently," he insisted. "The more I think about it, the more it was meant to be. I know Poppy took it hard, finding Elsie there next to him."

" _I_ should have gone back to the bedroom," Anna let out a breath. "Like I said, I just had a feeling. The coroner said it was the first time he'd come to get someone and had to call back for another coffin when he arrived." She pursed her lips and exchanged a glance with Tom. Smiles bloomed across their faces before they dissolved into laughter, crying at the same time.

Tom held his sides, wiping his eyes. "Can't you just _see_ Elsie? There's her husband, standing by the pearly gates, and all of a sudden he hears that Scottish lilt behind him, 'Charlie Carson, how _dare_ you leave me first!'"

"I'm sure he turned around and said something like, 'I didn't leave, I was just getting a better place in line. _You_ certainly made sure I didn't have to wait long.'" Giggling, Anna dabbed at a tear with her finger. "Poppy talked to Sybbie at their funeral. She was feeling bad, having lost both of them at once, but your daughter just asked her if she could imagine one of them without the other. And she couldn't." She sighed. "That's when I think Poppy started to heal, not to feel guilt about it."

"Sybbie has always thought of them as being closer than two people usually are," Tom commented, taking an offered tissue from Anna. "You know when she was little she sometimes called them-"

"Uncle and Aunt Carson," Anna smiled. "I remember. John said once it seemed appropriate, even though we called Elsie Mrs. Hughes for _years_. Speaking of names," she glanced at the group of girls, who were standing, clustered around the coach, "I rang Sebastian last week at work. I know he goes by Charles there, but it was the first time I'd ever heard him answer the phone with 'Charles Bates, speaking.' I think Mr. Carson would have liked that."

"I think he would have _loved_ that," Tom corrected. "I think they're finished now." They walked over to Quinton, who was gathering equipment.

"Hi Tom! She's so excited, she told me all about going to breakfast with you. That place is great, Ada and I took Jalen there a couple of weeks ago. He's raved about it ever since." Q gave Anna a hug. "It's good to see you, too."

"How are your dads doing? The wedding's next month," Anna said. "Thomas hasn't stopped crying yet, has he?" Q grinned.

"Actually, Dad's all right. For now. He's found a way to get through the next few weeks without a flood. Daddio, on the other hand…well, we're going to need a stadium's worth of tissues. Mason just laughs at them and says, oh well, it's a farm, they'll water the ground."

"You'll be crying along with them, you softie," Tom teased him. "It's your sister's wedding day. I'm looking forward to seeing her, and the farm. Daisy says it looks so different. She's very proud of all the work the kids have done."

"As any mother would be," Anna said, glancing over her shoulder. "I need to go, but it's been nice to see you, Quinton. Say hello to Jimmy and Thomas for me." Anna gave him another hug before turning to Tom. He kissed her lightly on the cheek.

"If you ever need to talk to someone, call me."

"Thanks. I will." She hurried off.

The girls chattering in the background were moving apart as their parents came and got them. Tom saw a familiar figure squeal and rush toward him. He quickly leaned forward and whispered to Q. "Poppy said that she hopes you're doing well and she's going to kill you the next time she sees you. Which will probably be at Ada's wedding."

The young man threw his head back and laughed. "It'll be the infamous Red Wedding, then? I'm looking forward to it," He stepped aside as a grass-covered girl threw herself into Tom's arms.

"Granddad! You're here! Can we go eat now? I'm _starving_ ," she said, her black hair wild. Q grinned.

"I'll see you next week, kiddo. You're doing well, keep practicing your dribbling. Have fun with your grandfather!" Q ruffled the top of her head fondly.

0000000000000000

The drive into town took a bit longer, as the farmer's market had blocked off the street next to the courthouse. Tom had to drive around the building to find a parking spot. DOWNTON PLAZA was emblazoned on the top. It was a new sign, just like the others.

"Why is the building called Downton?" she asked. Tom checked his rearview mirror as he backed into a spot.

"I don't know," he said honestly as they got out of the car. "I never thought about it before."

"Oh, look! They have the new sign up for your office!" She pointed at the doors. He slid an arm around her shoulders as she read it out loud. "Carson, Crawley, Bates and Branson," she gripped his waist, bouncing up and down. "Why is the name Carson still there? Nobody works there with that name."

He held her tightly crossing the street. "It's a sign of respect, love. Do you want them to take _my_ name off when I retire for good?"

"They better not!" She said, stomping her feet on the sidewalk. They grinned at each other. A young couple passed them going the other way, kissing. "Ew," she said, sticking her tongue out. "Why did the Carsons do that at their party?"

"What? What did they do?" he asked. He knew she meant their anniversary party back in the spring. Secretly, he was glad she'd brought them up. It was appropriate to the occasion.

"They _kissed_. It was gross!" She said, skipping beside him. "They were OLD. Old people shouldn't kiss!"

"Even married people?" Tom asked, stifling a laugh. "When you get older, you won't think it's gross."

"And then," she said, not listening, "When they were eating their cake, they kept holding hands! Uncle Carson had to eat his cake left-handed!"

"In a few years, I'm going to remind you of this conversation," Tom said as he laughed. "Look, we're here." He thanked a man going out the door who held it open for them.

Pedro's was packed. Even the bar was full.

"I'm sorry, there will be a twenty-minute wait," the hostess said. The forty-something manager sidestepped a waitress and shook Tom's hand.

"We tried to hold the seats, Mr. Branson, but we've been slammed since seven this morning," he apologized. "If I didn't have to put the customer first, I'd kick out the women sitting there now." The hostess laughed. Tom shrugged.

"Don't sweat it, we'll still come back next week. I forgot about the farmers' market." Tom put his hand on his granddaughter's shoulder. The manager's mouth fell open.

"I'm sure everyone tells you this, but you look just like your mother. I'm Eddie," he said. "You'll love the food here. We make pancakes as big as your face!" She giggled, shaking his hand vigorously.

"I love pancakes! I'm Carson," she glanced over at the jukebox. Eddie looked in confusion at Tom, who nodded.

"That's a name I haven't heard much." He scratched the stubble on his chin.

"Some people say it's a boys' name," Carson explained baldly. "I don't. I have a friend named Riley, and she's a girl."

Eddie blew out a breath and looked back at the bar. "Now I'm _really_ sorry I can't kick those women out for you."

"Really, don't worry," Tom said. "I know how busy this place gets during brunch on the weekends. It's partly my fault, I was talking with friends before we came over here."

"If you say so," Eddie gestured at the jukebox, noticing Carson's interest. "It's old, but it really works. Here-" he handed her some change. "Let's go pick a song. This one's on me."

"Really?" she asked, grinning. "Thanks!" They went over to the machine, where Eddie explained where to put the money in, and pointed to the correct buttons for the song she wanted.

"Which song did you pick?" Tom asked when she sat down next to him.

"It's a surprise!" she said. "Granddad, they had so many songs that I knew! Like ones that we play at home on the record player!"

"That means they'll be good songs," he smiled. He watched her fondly as she got up to look at pictures hanging on the walls. She kept running back to tell him about the pictures of him and Grandma Sybil, Great-Aunts Mary and Edith, Great-Uncle Matthew. Great-Grandpa Robert and Great-Granny Cora. He thought about telling her about the other pictures, about people she didn't know. _In time, she'll know about all of them. That's why you're coming back next Saturday._

"Granddad," she pouted, flopping down next to him a few minutes later, "Why hasn't my song come on yet? Eddie showed me how to pick it, so I know I did it right, but I haven't heard it yet!"

A vaguely familiar country song played from the jukebox.

 _I can just see you when your hair is turning gray_

 _What I can't see is_

 _How I'm ever gonna love you more_

 _But I've said that before…_

 _We'll look back someday_

 _At this moment that we're in_

 _And I'll look at you and say_

 _And I thought I loved you then_

 _And I thought I loved you then…_

"A lot of people have picked songs," he explained. "Yours is in line, waiting its turn. We'll hear it before we leave."

"Oh, okay." She turned around, kneeling on the bench, and pointed at a picture right behind them on the wall. "Who's that?"

He turned and raised his eyebrows. "You don't know? You know who they are, you've met them." He stood up to get a better angle. It had been a long time since he'd looked at it. He smiled, seeing their intertwined hands on the bar, their rings showing. Carson frowned.

"Ummm…I don't know," she said, flapping her hands.

Blinking rapidly, Tom exhaled. _How would she know what they looked like before she knew them? She's only nine._

"This is Uncle Carson," he pointed at the smiling man. "This picture was taken the day he retired," Tom said. Carson bit her lip.

"Oh. But who's the pretty lady with red hair?"

"That's Elsie. Aunt Carson," he said.

"She had red hair? I didn't know that!" She peeked closer. "She had really blue eyes. And Uncle Carson had a big nose."

Tom snorted, laughing. "Yes she did, and yes, he did." He grabbed her in a hug, suddenly feeling tears. "I love you."

"I love you, Granddad," she kissed him on the cheek.

They were finally seated in a booth, and their orders taken by a waitress.

"Aaaaaahhhhhh," Carson laid her head dramatically on the table. "I'm so huuuuunnnnnnnggggrrrryyyy."

"You won't be after you eat," Tom ruffled her hair. "Sit up, darling." He glanced at their surroundings. He hadn't sat in this particular spot before. "Did you know Pedro's used to be a bar? I mean, it still has a bar, but it wasn't a restaurant like it is now. They didn't serve breakfast when I first met your grandmother. Uncle and Aunt Carson came here every Friday after work to talk. They'd sit at the same two seats at the bar, over there," he pointed to where the group of women laughed over coffee. "If you like, we can come here every Saturday for breakfast. And hopefully, we can sit at the bar."

"Every Saturday? _Really?_ Just _me_? Not Kevin or Sophie, or Mom and Dad?" Her eyes bugged out.

"Just us. I spend time with your brother and sister during the week, and I'd like for you and I to have a special time together."

"Yeah!" she waved her hands in a cheer above her head, her grin splitting her face. "Awesomesauce!" She gasped, putting her hands over her mouth. "And I can pick another song!" Her shoulders slumped. "Oh, darn."

"What's wrong? There are plenty of songs to choose from," Tom said. She rested her cheek on her hand.

"I know, but the old jukebox _still_ hasn't played my song. I think it's broken."

"I don't think so. It's just very, very busy. Like Pedro's." He leaned in closer, his breath tickling her forehead. "If you like, after we eat, we can go dance over there. They have a spot for people to dance." It wasn't very big, but there was a space on the other side of the bar where a dance floor had been put down.

"I love to dance. We dance to the record player at home all the time," Carson said. "Mom says she used to dance at Uncle and Aunt Carson's when she was growing up." She cocked her head. "She said it was a secret, and she never told you."

Tom's heart melted. "And she never did. I thought maybe she'd dance there, mostly because they did, but I never knew for sure about your mom." He hesitated for a moment. "Would you like to know a secret? About your mother and the Carsons?"

"Yeah!" she said eagerly, leaning forward.

"Did you know your record player used to belong to Mr. Carson? He had it for years."

"Uh-huh. I knew that," she said, nodding.

"I thought you might know that. But this is something else," he said. "Both Aunt and Uncle Carson loved your grandmother Sybil very much," he said, feeling a slight lump in his throat. "And after she died, Mr. Carson gave me money for your mother, Sybbie, to have when she went to university."

"And she used it to go to Dublin, where she met Dad," Carson finished, drumming her fingers on the table. Tom sat back.

"How did you know that?"

"Mom told me," she hummed under her breath.

"Oh." He studied his hands for a moment. _But there is something that I_ _ **know**_ _you don't know. Because I never told Sybbie. I never told anyone._

"Your grandmother and I flew to Las Vegas to get married, did you know that?" he asked. She raised her eyebrows.

"No. Why did you go there?"

He huffed out a laugh. _I'll give her the nine-year-old version_. "Well, your great-grandpa didn't like your grandmother dating me then. He learned to like me later, but not then. Grandma Sybil and I wanted to get married quickly, so we could be together."

"Great-Grandpa didn't like you? So you ran away to get married?" Her mouth was open in a perfect O.

"That's right. Except we didn't buy our plane tickets to Las Vegas. Someone else did, and gave them to me." He pointed behind him, at the picture by the door. "Mrs. Carson, or Mrs. Hughes as she was known then, gave me the plane tickets. So your grandmother and I flew to Las Vegas a few days later and got married. But we never told anyone that the airplane tickets were a gift." He lowered his voice. "Your mother doesn't know. I kept the secret between me and Mrs. Carson."

"Mom doesn't know?" she half-shrieked. She bounced on her seat. "I don't want to tell her. Do I have to?"

"No," he laughed. "You can tell her if you like, but if you want to keep it a secret between us, that's okay too." His expression softened as he took her hand across the table. "On the day you were born, I was so happy your parents gave you the name Carson. It's very special, you know that, right?" She nodded, hooking a finger through his. "If Mrs. Carson hadn't given me the plane tickets all those years ago, I don't know when Sybil and I would have gotten married. And if Mr. Carson hadn't given your mother the money for school, she might not have gone to Dublin and met your dad. So you see, Carson, they played a big part in you being here today." He squeezed her hand.

"Wow," she said quietly. She looked as if she didn't know what to say. But she squealed and let go of his hand as the waitress arrived with their food. "Look at the pancakes, Granddad!"

"Eddie was right, they _are_ as big as your face. More like your head, really." He thanked the waitress, both of them grinning at Carson, who devoured her breakfast with almost alarming speed. She was finished before Tom was halfway through.

"Oh, that was really good. I'm really, really full," she groaned, holding her stomach, slumping against the back of the booth. She glanced over at the dance floor. "The jukebox _still_ hasn't played my song. It's broken. We need to tell Eddie."

"What's the song? Unless you still want it to be a surprise," he said, lifting his cup to take another sip of coffee.

She sat up. "It's one of Mom's favorites. We dance to it at home. 'Ain't No Mountain High Enough', by Tammi Terrell and Marvin…uh, Marvin…" she frowned, trying to remember.

"Marvin Gaye," Tom said without thinking. Unbidden, the memory of a long-ago wedding reception popped into his head. Followed by a memory of the city office on a summer's day, and a disheveled office manager and a proud managing partner. He choked on his coffee. Holding his napkin to his face, he knew his face was red.

 _And not just because I choked on my drink. I think I'll wait ten years before telling her about dancing to Charlie Puth's song with the bride._

 _And how_ _ **I**_ _slipped the copy of the Kama Sutra into Elsie's luggage on their wedding day. It's not like they noticed me after I drove them from the reception to their hotel. They went to their shared grave thinking Beryl did it._

 _Heh._

He could almost hear Sybil laughing.

"Are you okay, Granddad?" Carson looked worried, poor soul.

"I'm fine, love," he reassured her once he could talk again. He cleared his throat and tried to think of something less naughty. "It just went down the wrong pipe."

"Can I go dance?" she asked. "Just over there."

"Go ahead, I need to finish my food." He watched her as she twirled by herself on the tiny floor. Several people watched her with amusement as she got lost in the music. Tom had finished his meal, and was nursing his last bit of coffee when he was hailed by some friends who were leaving.

Carson didn't know the people he was talking to, but she knew better than to interrupt him. But when she finally, _finally_ heard the opening notes to her song, she was tempted to drag him over to dance with her. Mom always said it was a song no one should dance to alone.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a couple, a man and woman, dancing to the old favorite. She spun in a circle, bouncing on her toes.

She wouldn't dance alone.

 _Listen, baby_

 _Ain't no mountain high_

 _Ain't no valley low,_

 _Ain't no river wide enough, baby_

 _If you need me, call me_

 _No matter where you are_

 _No matter how far; don't worry baby_

 _Just call my name; I'll be there in a hurry_

 _You don't have to worry…_

A flash of red distracted her. The man was so much taller than the woman, but somehow their foreheads were touching, red hair mixed with unruly black curls. They kissed, but somehow their feet moved in time perfectly. Carson danced three steps behind them as they circled the dance floor, trying to imitate their steps.

 _My love is alive_

 _Way down in my heart_

 _Although we are miles apart_

 _If you ever need a helping hand_

 _I'll be there on the double_

 _Just as fast as I can_

 _Don't you know that there_

 _Ain't no mountain enough_

 _Ain't no valley low enough_

 _Ain't no river wide enough_

 _To keep me from getting to you, babe…_

Someone tapped on her shoulder. She beamed up at her Granddad. They danced for the rest of the song. She was surprised when the music died away, and people around them applauded.

"They think you danced well, love," Tom said, as she blushed and hid her face in his shirt. Eddie waved them over to the bar. The two seats at the end were empty. Carson sucked in her breath and shivered.

Eddie gestured to the end of the bar. "Before you go, I wanted to show Carson these. With any luck, you'll sit here next Saturday, and the Saturday after that, and so on."

She peeked at the back of the red leather seats. Embossed brass plaques were screwed into them. One said _C. Carson_ , the other, _E. Carson_.

"See? You can sit in either seat next time, and let your Granddad have the other."

"Thanks," Carson said, her heart beating fast. She wanted to tell her grandfather something, but she didn't think he'd believe her. Maybe he would. He had told her a secret earlier. She bit her lip. It was a bad habit, her mother was forever telling her to stop.

After Tom paid the bill, she tugged on his sleeve.

"I have to tell you something," she whispered.

"What is it?" he bent over, looking into her blue eyes. They were wide. She pointed at a picture on the wall, the one taken the day of Mr. Carson's retirement.

"They were dancing with me! I know it!" she gasped, grabbing his wrist. "They weren't ghosts. _Please_ believe me! If Dad were here, he'd say it was only my imagination, but I _know_ -"

"It's not your imagination," he murmured, stopping by the door and enveloping her in a hug. "I saw them, too."

 _I can't explain it. But maybe I don't have to._

He held on to her until he felt her let go. He smoothed her wild hair back, assured she was fine.

Eddie waved goodbye behind the bar. "Bye, Carson! We'll see you next Saturday!"

"See you later!" she called back, waving. When they left, the window pane in the door reflected the picture inside. Charles and Elsie appeared in the glass before they vanished in the bright sunlight.

 **The End.**


End file.
